


Grief Laced Round My Throat

by fictionfinding



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clothed Sex, Depression, Drinking to Cope, Grief/Mourning, Kink Meme, M/M, Mentioned Prompto/OFC/OMC, One-Sided Prompto/Cindy, Presumed Dead, Reunion Sex, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 42,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12428259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionfinding/pseuds/fictionfinding
Summary: In the wake of Ignis' disappearance, it's left to Gladio and Prompto to mourn.And then he comes back.





	1. I

It was a long walk from the haven above Longwythe Peak to Hammerhead, and the daemons more than gave Gladio a run for his money. He’d taken the job because even with the Longwythe outpost abandoned, the crossroads were still an important connecting point for personnel and supply vehicles that could handle the treacherous conditions of the road. The mark had been a naga that had made a nest dead in the middle of the crossroads and he’d settled it sure enough, but it was hardly the only thing that harried him on the way there or back. The risk was worth taking though if it kept the roads open. In the waste of the battlefield he’d seen a few empty shells of vehicles littered along the roadside, and knew some of them to be recent. A headlong collision with a naga might do it some damage, but the human driver far more. 

He’d seen the job done the night before, and after the naga’s cold corpse had disintegrated into nothing, he’d checked out the remains of a truck that had been carrying supplies to see if there was anything worth salvaging to report. There was, but he had left the work of it for others, striking out for Pallebram for a resting spot that night. He’d already spent enough time out at a place crawling with daemons and wasn’t equipped for that kind of mission. He’d gotten a guy at the command station at Prairie Outpost who was heading over to Hammerhead to transport him as far down as the peak as a favour, but for the return journey Gladio had to make it to Hammerhead by foot. 

A gruelling four hour slog of walking punctuated by brawling and occasionally choosing his battles and running clear saw him to Hammerhead’s doorstep around lunchtime (whatever time really meant to any of them, with no daylight) and Gladio was eager to avail himself of the “bathing facilities” there, as they liked to joke. A washbasin of clean water and a towel wasn’t much compared to the luxury they’d taken for granted growing up in Insomnia, but the pipes at the diner couldn’t handle much more than they already were and there wasn’t any hunter ‘round Hammerhead stupid enough to ask Cindy if they could borrow her shower, so if a lukewarm sponge bath was all Hammerhead station’s “bathing facilities” had to offer, it was good enough for Gladio. He certainly wouldn’t mind getting back to his own apartment in Lestallum, though, and enjoying real hot water, courtesy of EXINERIS, cramped as that shower was for someone of his size. Maybe it was time to head home, he thought.

After washing off the worst of the grime from dusty roads and daemons, he reported in with the Head Hunter of the moment—a rotating position at Hammerhead and a few other of the less permanently occupied outposts—who, as expected, was keen to arrange a pick up of the food tins from the wrecked truck at Longwythe in the next few days. She paid Gladio in a handful of gil, and a promise of a meal and a ride out to Lestallum if he wanted—there was a salvage vehicle due to come through from the Insomnia outskirts just after noon, and it would be taking the haul back to the city. 

Gladio rattled the coins lightly in his pocket as he lined up for slop. Marks didn’t pay what they used to, before the economy tanked with the refugee crisis and fall of eternal night, but there was still some money flowing through to the hunters. Most folks were willing to donate something towards those keeping the daemons out, at least those who didn’t think they were reckless fools throwing lives away for naught. Gladio, of course, had skill enough he could make it his main income. He was the Shield of the King. He wasn’t about to become the bodyguard of some Lestallum slumlord.

He sat down and dug into his plate of food on one of the former diner’s couches, but it wasn’t long before a shock of spiky blonde hair caught his attention coming through the doorway. He’d been wondering if he’d run into him, coming up this way.

“Gladio!” Prompto said, stumbling over towards him as soon as he’d seen him, “Long time no see! Into the good stuff it looks like.”

“Good stuff?” Gladio asked sceptically, looking at the dish in front of him, but his smile was bright as he spoke. It was good to see him.

“As good as it gets out here, and I am gonna get me some!” Prompto said, heading over to the kitchen. He was back hardly a minute later, plopping down on the seat across from Gladio, pushing aside a bunch of equipment lying about as he did so.

“So what brings you out here?” Prompto asked, digging right into his food.

“Y’know how it is,” Gladio said, rubbing his neck where it felt like a permanent crick had set in. “Was helping out around the Slough, ended up at Prairie Outpost on a favour, and then someone mentions the problem at Longwythe and the crossroads and next thing you know, I’m trudging my ass back here covered in snake slime.”

“You took that one?” Prompto shuddered. “Thanks for not swinging by first to invite me, ol’ pal.”

“Knew you were busy. How’s the romancing coming along?” Gladio said with a smirk. The flailing he got in response was worth it.

“Hey, it’s not like I’m trying to, agh, I mean,” Prompto said, still easily flustered about this kind of thing. His volume had dropped drastically even though there was hardly anyone around to hear. It never stopped being funny. “I just want to help her out, y’know. Make things easier for her out here. Cindy’s—”

“Just teasing ya,” Gladio said, as Prompto stared pitifully into his plate. “Not like I’ve got a lot else to add joy to my days.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s everybody make jokes at my expense,” Prompto said, in a tone that was self-deprecating but not ill-humoured as he perked up a little. It was nice being around Prompto for that reason. It took some of the weight off of Gladio being Gladio.

“So you been working around the garage or taking on hunts to impress the lady love?” Gladio asked not bothering to keep his voice quiet.

“Man!” Prompto whined, briefly covering his face as Gladio laughed at his overreaction. “I could punch you sometimes,” Prompto said, pointing a finger at him.

“You’re welcome to try,” Gladio grinned.

“And break my fist?” Prompto said. “Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Prompto rolled his eyes and laughed it off before answering the more genuine part of Gladio’s question. “Been doing a bit of both, really. Whatever helps out, and brings in a bit of gil, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Gladio said. The kid’s crush on Cindy was hopeless but easy enough to understand, and the command station at Hammerhead definitely had use of someone with Prompto’s experience and skills. Nor could Gladio cast stones with the way he’d moved around in the past, the way he’d still say yes to almost any gig, if he thought there was a fighting chance to it. Even so, the older he got, the better it seemed to get home after those stretches away, and better still if they could get everyone together. With this in mind, he made a proposition. “You should come back with me to Lestallum, for a visit at least. Iris’d love to see you, if she’s not off hunting. Iggy’d like it too. I guarantee he’d cook you something better than tinned beans and rice,” Gladio said, looking pointedly at their plates.

“If he’s not off hunting,” Prompto said, echoing Gladio’s words.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, but nothing more. It was an old topic now, but not one without deep-set feelings. When they’d first settled in at Lestallum after a long road back from Gralea, it had been heartening to see Ignis retrain himself in his combat skills, learning new methods of offence and defence suited to the senses he had available to him. They’d all wanted to see him regain his confidence and his capabilities from prior to the injury as much as he was able, and Ignis worked at it hard for years. They’d all cheered him on—Prompto working alongside him on target practice, Iris sparring with him when she got the chance, Talcott asking him questions about magic, seeing how far he could push the powers granted through the crystal, Weskham keeping him on his toes with the knives in and out of the kitchen. They’d all cheered him on up until he started talking about hunting daemons as though it was the natural sequence of events, this following from that, and suddenly the support that had cost them nothing to give fell to silence around him. And Gladio, when he had turned to Gladio for affirmation, couldn’t bring himself to give it.

It had caused the greatest crack in their relationship to date. Ignis’ determination to hunt, to hunt solo even, didn’t go away. Like his namesake, his fire only burned brighter to prove himself, to reject what he resented as pity or indulgence from those around him and show equal despite the risk. Ignis wasn’t going to back down, and Gladio wasn’t one to hide his feelings. He’d convinced himself he could support him after their confrontation at Cartanica, so long as Ignis understood the risks, but that conviction rang hollow as old fears rose up at the prospect of Ignis fighting alone, without the eyes of Gladio or Prompto, or as had once been, Noctis, on him to see what he couldn’t, to catch him when he’d stumble, to clear the way ahead. The unburied image of Ignis wounded and unconscious in the wreckage of Altissia, blood dripping down his torn face, breath alarmingly still, overrode Gladio’s better nature, and though he couldn’t stop him, he couldn’t bring himself to give what Ignis so desperately wanted. Ignis hunted anyway.

In the end they’d fought, or not fought, so many times, so bitterly, Gladio had just—gotten out, he supposed. The anxiety became oppressive. Gladio felt like he couldn’t be near him, knowing Ignis was out there and could be killed at any minute by a daemon he simply couldn’t see coming. Gladio had drifted away, wordlessly, spent more time in Hammerhead or hunting anywhere but around Lestallum. He couldn’t think what it would be to see him head out, or to come across him on a hunt—it was too much. Gladio’d all but run away, hanging on to updates from Iris and feeling guilty for how his dread held him back from making the call himself, from going back to his arms, from being the pillar of support he’d promised himself he would be. 

But whatever else could be said, time was a healer, and the overwhelming doubts, the urge to protect, to shelter, faded with each phone call from Iris that reassured him Ignis was excelling as he always had on the battlefield, bringing in difficult marks with his tactical genius, and that Iris thought it would be really nice if they could all get together again for her birthday, yes? She was turning eighteen, after all. 

Gladio was weaker to his sister than to his fear of confronting the man he loved and acknowledging he’d fucked up, so he’d made his way back. The celebration was held in the harsh light of incandescent lanterns on the Lestallum outlook, with Monica gamely bearing through one of Cid’s long-winded rants as Talcott answered Prompto’s barrage of questions on how he’d been and Cor sat at the picnic table with something approaching a half-smile as his star pupil regaled Dustin and Holly with her recent achievements, while Gladio listened to his sister and kept his eyes ever on the cook, who had figured out how to make dumplings Crown City dive-style with nothing but bulette shank and a camping stove. The celebration was something everyone needed and as it wound up, Ignis slipped away and Gladio followed, knowing what was allowed to him. He caught up with him at the outlook wall, feeling the breeze as it dashed up from the crag, and as attempts at meaningless small talk dried up into a husk of conversation, Gladio asked for forgiveness. Ignis didn’t have to ask for what. He didn’t need words. He simply granted it with the touch of a hand resting atop Gladio’s on the Lestallum wall. Gladio kissed him there above the windy crag and whispered against his ear, “I missed you,” and Ignis had the grace to keep silent rather than lay blame at his feet. They had never fully healed that rift, in the end, out of pride and lingering unease, but it didn’t lie between them anymore as it once had, and though Gladio still hunted afield, he was based out of Lestallum more often than not these days.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bring it up,” Prompto said, snapping Gladio out of his deep daze. His thoughts must have been written all over his face.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Gladio said warmly, tossing his fork down on his emptied plate. “So, you coming?”

“Could be nice, I guess,” Prompto said, pushing his food around. “When’re you leaving?”

“Truck’s due to come in the next hour or two,” Gladio said.

“Guess I’ll have to make my excuses to Cindy,” Prompto said.

“Should give my regards as well. Feels like it’s been ages,” Gladio said, flexing his arms out of habit.

“She’d love news of Cid, I’ll bet,” Prompto said with a genuine smile.

“Hmph, don’t know what there is to say,” Gladio laughed. “The old coot’s over for dinner all the time but I’m pretty certain he’s the only constant force in the universe because he ain’t changed any.”

“Sounds like ‘im,” Prompto said as he finished up the last of his lunch and the two got ready to tidy up loose ends before their ride arrived. 

 

By two o’clock they had made the rounds and found themselves in the back seat of a box truck driven by a hunter named Ivy and her partner Sol, who had gone into Insomnia to raid an old energy plant for parts that might help the new technology Lestallum was developing for its artificial greenhouses. They were both quiet people, but the four of them had a good banter going for awhile, before eventually everyone fell to watchfulness as they passed the edge of the Disc. 

Gladio took out his phone to call ahead, wanting to give Ignis a heads up. He didn’t get anything. 

“Can’t get through?” Prompto asked, watching Gladio with his phone pressed against his ear in silence.

“Shitty reception out here, as usual,” Gladio said, shaking his head and putting the phone away. “Guess we can just surprise them, if anyone’s there.”

“I can catch up with Talcott, at least, right?” Prompto said.

“Yeah, the kid’s always hanging around the station scribbling notes about daemons, when he’s not reading Iggy those history books.”

“It’s good to see the little guy doing so well,” Prompto said, “after everything.”

“Yeah, although he’s getting to that age where he’s starting to talk about hunting as well,” Gladio grimaced. He himself had grown up military, and of course the “immortal” Cor, youngest serving Crownsguard at thirteen, was living precedent, but this was a darker world than even those times, and Talcott, still a string bean of a kid, had a long ways to go, whatever he talked of. “Iris put her foot down about that one,” he said.

“Man, the only daemons I wanted to hunt when I was thirteen were at the arcade,” Prompto said with a shudder. “I’d still rather that, probably.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said, and silence took over until they arrived under the floodlights of Lestallum.

After parting with Ivy and Sol, they swung by the command station of Lestallum, offering to report in ahead for the pair while they found a place to unload. It might have been nice to drop their stuff first, but it seemed sensible to catch wind of who was in town at the moment before they bothered heading back to Gladio’s apartment which might well be empty. As they approached the large shack, Gladio could see there was some kind of hubbub. A group of hunters were gathered close conferring with each other, and he spotted Iris at the centre, standing not much taller than she had in her teenage years, but her frame packing away twice the strength of those days from all her training and field experience leading the pushback against the daemons encroaching on their cities. Gladio was relieved to see she had made it back from Vaullery, and jostled Prompto on the shoulder as they approached the circle. It’d be nice for them to reconnect. However, the silence that fell as the group saw their approach and parted to make room for them overwrote Gladio’s relief instantly, and he dropped his pack to the floor as he moved closer to his sister. Something was wrong.

Iris looked stricken at their sudden appearance. “Gladdy…Prompto,” she said. 

“What’s going on?” Gladio asked, his nerves fraying at lightning speed. Prompto was tensed up next to him, waiting for an explanation. When Iris didn’t respond immediately, Gladio looked to the others in the group, Monica, Cor, half a dozen familiar faces from the past few years cast in harsh artificial light, none of whom were saying anything. Where was Talcott, he thought in a panic, mind going back to their earlier conversation, but no. Gladio could see him now in the corner, back turned to them, crouched in front of one of the tracking devices but not because he was operating it, because his head was cradled in his hands and—

“It’s Ignis,” Iris said, and Gladio was foolishly reminded of how Titan, after aeons of holding up the oppressive weight of a meteor that would have obliterated their planet in its initial impact, in a few seconds had fallen to his knees, crushed in the dark depths of the crater by the burden he had so long carried.

No.

“Ignis?” he could hear Prompto say, his voice strangled and distant.

Gladio couldn’t speak, couldn’t acknowledge, couldn’t react.

“Is he…?” Prompto began to ask, but was unable to finish. “Is he here?”

Iris shook her head.

“Then?” Prompto said, waiting for anyone to speak, to say what needed to be heard, when all that appeared was a wall of uncomfortable, hesitant faces.

With his back turned to the circle, Talcott, thirteen years old and afraid to show his emotions freely, stood up slowly and raised his voice a little to answer. “Burbost was short of hands,” he began, each word deliberate, trying to keep the waver out of his voice, the effort obvious. “So he went out there for a few days. He said,” Talcott paused for a moment, wiping the back of his hand against his eye, taking a shallow breath before forcing himself onward, “said he’d leave it to me to hold down the fort for a few days.” He would say that. The kid sounded devastated but kept going. “A radio transmission came through this afternoon. ‘The blind fella went for a hunt yesterday at 0900. Never came back.’”

No.

“We got the transmission as we were leaving Fort Vaullery,” Iris said, looking to Dustin and Monica briefly before meeting Gladio’s hunted stare once more. “We went up to Burbost and a tracker up there brought us,” she paused, struggling to find the words. “What he’d found.”

“What he found?” Prompto asked. There was a mess of emotion in his voice and though he barely moved, he seemed to shrink.

Iris reached into one of her pockets and pulled something out. She moved her hand towards them, but Gladio could only see her fingernails cut into her palm as she gripped too tightly, shaking a little. She squeezed her eyes shut, and uncurled her trembling fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

No.

Hunters had dog tags. That had always been their way. 

The four of them, though, from the first time they slew a dualhorn at Dave’s request, hadn’t gone in for that, practical as it might have been. Their Crownsguard gear was their identifier. That was _their_ way. There, nested in Iris’ palm, was nothing more than a tiny skull pendant on a snapped chain, and it was as damning evidence of what had happened as any tags they had picked up under Dave’s orders out in the wilds.

Gladio was frozen, as if Shiva’s ice had come and bound him in a spell, slowed his heart, taken away any feeling but the sheer ice of it. It’d happened before, and when she passed on Gladio had woken up and Ignis was lying there across from him in that train. Ignis and Noctis were there. Now…

He watched as Prompto’s hand extended, wavered and fell short, not able to take it from her. Gladio couldn’t move an inch.

“That all you found?” Gladio spoke, struggling to find the voice to say anything. “Nothing else?” No body, he couldn’t ask.

Iris nodded solemnly, and reached out to take his hand, her touch peculiarly warm against his, which felt chilled to the bone. She pressed the necklace into his hand and answered. “We came straight back. We weren’t sure—”

“Then I’m going out there,” Gladio said with grim determination, gripping the trinket tightly. It wasn’t proof. It couldn’t be proof.

“Yeah,” Prompto said with no less conviction, swallowing his panic and summoning his gun to hand, checking it over for readiness. “By the waterfall, was it?”

Both of them were ready to leave that second if they had to. They weren’t losing another comrade. It wasn’t going to happen. Something had been overlooked. Ignis must have, must have—excuses ran out of his head but it didn’t matter to Gladio right now. He had to be doing something, and that was finding his partner and bringing him home where they belonged, together. That was the only option.

“If you’re sending a search party where there ain’t much hope, y’can at least wait long enough to go prepared,” said a hunter among the circle, Amelia Rostrum, one of the wave of Accordan refugees who had come to Lestallum. “That’s what we’ve been trying to decide on.”

“We weren’t sure what to do,” Iris said, echoed to general agreement among those gathered. “But I want to go with you.” Gladio nodded.

“I’ll do what I can,” Monica said, stepping forward. “The tracker, Jethro, should still be around Burbost. We can talk to him again once we’re out there. We’ve got a vehicle we can take, once it’s refuelled.” 

“We can take five or six,” Iris said, looking to Cor, who was leaning against one of the beams of the building behind her, ever positioning himself an outsider. 

Cor’s expression was grim, and Gladio knew the marshal well enough now to read it a little. Cor thought the search pointless, that much was clear, but he wasn’t going to say no to Iris.

“I could—” Talcott said but Prompto didn’t let him finish.

“Nah,” Prompto said, clapping him on the shoulder and then ruffling his hair, “You’re holding down the fort, right? We gotta depend on you ‘til we get back. We’ll radio ahead if we find anything.”

“If I can make a request,” Amelia said, arms crossed against her chest, “we’d like to see you all back here by tomorrow. Things have been stirring up along the crag lately and it’s hard to spare so many good hunters for long, ‘specially our fearless leader.” There were a few nods from the others at this.

Iris clapped her lightly on the arm and said, “We’ll be back before this time tomorrow. Promise.” 

Gladio was already headed toward the fuelling station.

 

If the drive from Hammerhead to Lestallum had been solemn, it had never been as oppressively silent as the one from Lestallum to Burbost. Gladio had opted to sit in the bed of the truck, leaning up against the side, the lip of it digging in uncomfortably under his shoulder blades. There was a makeshift tarp erected to cover the back of the truck, but it didn’t offer much real protection against daemons. Gladio didn’t particularly care. He’d seen enough ruined cars to know the metal shell didn’t guarantee you much either, and right now he wasn’t of a mood to be cramped with five other people just to have a seat. Despite the discomfort, Iris had come to sit with him, and Prompto took up the opposite side, while Monica, Cor and Dustin had the cab to themselves.

Gladio kept going through how this was certainly a mistake. The necklace was snapped, which meant it had been removed, as likely from the living as the—no. It had snapped, and anything could have made it snap. Ignis could have snapped it off himself. It could have been caught on something; it wasn’t necessarily taken from him. But then why would he leave—no, no, he could have been in some kind of trouble; he couldn’t make it back the way he came and needed to leave a signal for anyone who came looking for him. The necklace was as sure a sign as any. Then, he left it as signal and—had been trapped out there, alone, unsure of what was around him, near that daemon pit of a grotto for two days. Gladio’s breaths were becoming shallow as his thoughts tumbled from one scenario to the next and he needed to stop and remind himself of his training, that deep slow breaths brought about clarity and preparedness for battle. Nothing seemed clear at the moment.

Iris was watching him, he knew, observing everything with a sibling’s eye.

She sidled closer at last and spoke very quietly. “Gladdy,” she said, touching his arm. Gladio didn’t push her away, but he didn’t speak either. The ice that had overtaken him earlier had become something more akin to fire, a dangerous, explosive force to be contained. It licked beneath his skin, a consuming presence waiting to be further fed by fear or rage. 

“Gladdy, I need to know,” Iris said, “whatever we find out there, if we don’t find anything at all, are you going to be okay?”

“Okay?” Gladio asked, his jaw set, molars grinding hard against each other without realizing it.

“Not okay, then,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just,” she stopped for a moment, pressed her forehead against his arm in a way she’d hardly done since she was a child, one of their old habits. “You’re the only family I have left, Gladdy, and I need to know you’re not gonna do anything stupid, or reckless, or, or—” She couldn’t think of a way to finish, or else didn’t want to say it.

Despite his dark mood, Gladio tried to humour her. Iris the Daemon-Slayer, now in her twentieth year, was, after all, still his little sister. “When have I ever done something reckless?”

She smiled against his shoulder, drawing comfort from his idle words. She turned to face Prompto opposite them once again, but kept her arm against his in a tacit attempt to return that comfort.

Yet it ran through his head inescapably. Was he going to be okay? He was going to be okay when they found Ignis and brought him back to his home, to his bed, to his embrace. Every traitorous thought that denied this outcome Gladio tried to silence with deep inhalation as the truck rolled along battered roads and the sound of the river rushed near to them.

“Did Gladio ever tell you,” Prompto said, his voice a bit shaky, unsure whether it could fill the silence, or whether it ought to, “about the time he made us take on a behemoth for some Cup Noodles?”

“He said it was to save the chocobos!” Iris said, valiantly trying to match Prompto’s attempt.

“Oh, we killed ol’ Deadeye to save the chocobos alright,” said Prompto, shifting his limbs as the truck hit a patch of rough road. “A noble cause! But the one Gladio didn’t tell you about was bigger and meaner and we mostly did it for his vanity. The ‘ultimate flavour experience,’ he called it.”

“I can’t believe you, Gladdy!” Iris said. “Dragging you guys around for that. You must have collapsed at camp when it was over.”

“Oh, we did,” Prompto said. “It was a rough fight, all for a few cuts of meat to get the—”

“‘Ultimate flavour experience,’” Iris said in a dead imitation of her brother, despite the difference of pitch. It was annoying how she could do that. “So, when you put it all together, did it live up?” Awareness caught up with her mere moments later.

Prompto ducked his head as he mumbled, “Well, you know.”

Gladio decided this eggshells thing was all bullshit and relaxed his hands that he’d unconsciously clenched into fists as he said, “Iggy’s unbeatable when he puts his mind to it. Best meal we ever had.” They were gonna find him. He was out there and they’d bring him back home.

“Speak for yourself,” Prompto said, taking his cue from Gladio’s good humour.

“Like you don’t enjoy them too,” Gladio said “What could be better than Cup Noodles with behemoth round you hunted yourself?”

“It was good, not denying that,” Prompto said, “but there’s more to this world than instant noodles.”

Gladio snorted.

“Gladdy, there are days when I think I’d trade my weapons for some Cup Noodles if there were any to be had, but you know that’s true,” Iris said. 

“Really,” Prompto said, “there are a few more food groups out there. I still remember the first time Ignis made us meat pie. Can practically taste it now.” His expression was wistful.

“Sticks with ya?” Iris asked, moving to sit with her hands draped over her knees, leaning forward. 

“It really does!” Prompto said. “You know, I guess it kind of made me think ‘this is what a real home meal is,’ like if my parents had been more around before…ah, shit.” He abruptly broke off, bringing the back of his wrist to his forehead, trying to cover up his reaction. 

Iris went silent. Further attempts at convincing themselves everything was fine were abandoned to the caprice of memory, random in its associations, in the feelings it stirred.

Fuck, Gladio thought. Fuck all this.

 

It was “night” when they pulled up to the gates at Burbost. It wasn’t much of an outpost (not that it ever had been) but it was always manned by a couple of residents, as it served a strategic resting point for those travelling long routes from the resource-rich areas of Ravatogh and the Vesperpool. Strong headlights had kept them clear on the road over, and now announced their presence to the watchman, who had the gates open as they arrived. The six of them stiffly unloaded from the truck and were greeted by a hunter, Hal something-or-other, Gladio thought, coming from out of the former souvenir emporium. Lestallum HQ had made the transmission ahead of their arrival.

“Heard y’all would be coming this way again,” he greeted, taking a puff from his hand-rolled cigarette he’d been in the middle of smoking. “Good to see you made it safe.”

Dustin nodded. “No trouble on the road tonight.”

“‘Bout as much as you can ask for,” Hal said, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth before sizing them up. “May as well be frank. I can’t tell you much more than what was said afore, and there’s none here keen to join you on this venture. Well, I’m sure you lot know what you’re about,” he said, nodding particularly to Iris and Cor, “but it’s nasty out there, still, and no one here’s up for something without hope. Just laying it out, plain and simple, no offence.”

“We failed to get thorough data when we were first here,” Monica said, coming forward. “We’d like to amend that now.”

Hal nodded without much enthusiasm and ushered them into the emporium where a few seats were contrived around a common area. He put down the cigarette and waited for her questions as everyone arranged themselves. Gladio listened intently, but his eyes were out the window at which he stood, searching the darkness beyond the white lights of the street lamps, although it was impenetrable. Somewhere out there, he thought. 

“We know,” Monica began, “the man we’re looking for left at 0900 yesterday. What was it that he was hunting?”

“Goblins. There’s been a rash of them coming up from the waterfall way, onto the road, harrying people coming up from the south. Needed someone to clean them up proper, and your man said he was a hand with that sort.”

“Has anyone passed through from the south in the past two days?” Monica asked.

“Had some people come through this morning, carting ore from the mountain,” Hal said.

“Did they report anything unusual on the road? Any sign?” Monica asked.

“I’d’ve told you that the first time if they did,” Hal said. “They didn’t see anything. No goblins e’en, or they’d have mentioned it,” he said, shaking his head. With a murmur he added, “Guess he did finish the job.”

“Have there been other daemon sightings nearby?” Monica continued.

“You should know there are always more out here, lurking wherever they like. Not sure what’s hiding behind the plunge, but it sure is a nasty place. The lights keep ‘em out of the gates, but there’s a reason most folks ‘round these parts have moved into that big city of yours.”

Now there was an irony that didn’t escape Gladio even in his dark mood. Lestallum—‘their’ big city.

“You sent people out to search at 2000 yesterday when he didn’t return?”

“A quick scout, but not an outfit like yours, and not thorough,” Hal said. “Just to see if he was near. We kindly thank those willing to take on dangerous hunts but we can’t throw more lives in the way when they do. Well,” he said with a sigh, “wasn’t gonna leave a blind fella out there on his own if he was wandering close, though.”

“Jethro came through the pass around noon, if I recall,” Monica said. “Before our arrival but after the miners’, I would guess?”

Hal nodded. Gladio’s attention, meanwhile, was caught by the caravan door opening as a short man with damp hair stepped out of it and walked toward the emporium.

“Is he here tonight?” Monica asked.

“Speak of the Infernian and he shall appear,” Hal said, tipping his head towards the approaching figure behind her.

“‘Lo there,” Jethro said, stepping into the emporium and coming to sit among them. Gladio turned back to the circle, wanting to hear anything this man had to say about the possibility of what had happened. The group made their greetings before Monica single-mindedly delved into the topic.

“You mentioned you had come through the area south of the gates.”

“Yep, was coming from my cabin that way,” Jethro said, picking at one of his nails. “Hugged the hills for most of the route but closer to the plunge I moved to the road. Found that necklace on the shoulder, less than a mile from the gate.”

“Exact location?”

“Right shoulder if you’re heading south, after the falls, ‘bout twenty paces before the right-hand stone embankment begins, I’d guess, near that tall oak tree with a beech graft. The glint of it caught in my flashlight.”

“No other signs?” Prompto cut in anxiously.

“I’d’ve been hard pressed to track a human on a paved road in daylight, son, even if I was looking, and daemons leave even less trace when they’re done, ‘sides those piles of clothes sometimes. Y’can be thankful that necklace was all I saw.”

“So you’re saying he could be out there,” Prompto said.

Jethro’s lip twitched sympathetically, before replying, “Wouldn’t go that far. There’s just not enough to go on. Now, I did come across some broken glass a little closer to the gates— looked like that one energy drink.”

Almost the entire room snapped to attention at that. Potions were in short supply. Gladio, Ignis and Prompto had only whatever Noct had imbued with power before he entered the Crystal, and the former Crownsguard were running even thinner, no doubt, if they’d any at all. They all knew what a broken vial meant on instinct. Ignis had gotten injured, and badly if he resorted to using their limited stock, that much was clear.

“Easy there,” Jethro said, eyeing them all up. “I couldn’t tell you whether it was thrown out the window by passing truckers, or whether it was your friend smashing it up himself, however likely you think it. Also can’t say whether it was done coming or going. It was human doing, is all I can say.” He chewed his lip for a moment thoughtfully. “And really, I think that’s all I can say altogether, ‘less you have other questions?”

Monica looked to those around her, but no one had anything to say. She turned back to Jethro and Hal. “Thank you for the information, but I think we’ve reached the end of what we can learn.”

“Then we’re wasting time,” Gladio said. Time that mattered, when you were out in the wilds fending for yourself. “Let’s get out there.” He exited the emporium first, walking towards the south-facing gate, not waiting for the others as they parted ways with Jethro. Hal followed the group out to the gate.

“Make a note we departed at roughly 2030,” Iris was saying to Hal as they walked over. Gladio didn’t bother to turn around, eyeing the dark road outside the wire fence. “With our number and odds, if we don’t return before 1200 tomorrow, there’s to be no search. Radio the message over to Lestallum HQ.”

“Understood,” Hal said to her, before calling over to the woman standing lookout. “Let’s get them open, Maria.”

As the gates creaked open before them, Gladio summoned his weapon to hand. The road was clear now but Gladio was ready to fight his way through a daemon horde if it got him closer to wherever Ignis was. Wherever he had to be. It was electric, that feeling, angry, welling up within him ready to lash out randomly at anything he came in contact with. The dark road ahead offered him nothing, yet.

“‘Spect to see y’all back,” he heard Hal say to Iris as they walked out the gates, “but since we’re talking business—it came to mind, earlier. By accounts, your man did finish the job. The bounty ain’t much but I can try to arrange it gets to family, if he’s any.”

Gladio drew up short for a moment, the world silent but for the distant rush of the falls and the hum of the generator by the emporium. He could feel eyes on him, but nobody spoke.

“Keep it,” he said staring at the boundless nothingness ahead of him, trying to force down the volatile feeling that threatened to overwhelm. Gladio walked onward as the gates clattered shut behind them, but was halted by a firm hand upon his shoulder, brief though the touch was. Gladio whirled around to glare at Cor who kept expressionless as he began giving orders.

“We fan out to cover every inch efficiently,” Cor said. “We keep pace and each is responsible for the area directly in front of them. Monica and Dustin take the shoulders and comb for signs off-road, but do not cross over the barriers without warning. Gladio and I will take position next to them, Iris and Prompto will take center formation.”

The group proceeded accordingly, with Gladio taking right next to Prompto, Iris and Cor to the left, slowly keeping pace along the highway as they scouted for any sign. There was nothing until they came upon the remains of the potion bottle, and even then it told them little more. There was no blood that they could see, but daemons didn’t bleed and there were injuries goblins could deal that wouldn’t manifest in open wounds. They also could not wholly discount that it might be mere roadside trash. The brand was hardly uncommon even now, with the main factory based in Lestallum rather than Crown City. The shards were inadequate in telling the story they were looking for.

Gladio’s heart beat furiously as they came by the tree Jethro had mentioned, but twenty paces before or after or a hundred on, there was nothing to see, not even a hint of where the necklace had lain before it was picked up. There was only ferocious echo of the water pouring down from the hanging valley to the rocks below.

Cor stopped them after they had scanned well past the area the necklace had been found in, close to the fork of the rivers.

“There’s nothing to be found here,” Monica said as they drew up.

“If Ignis cleaned out the goblins in this area, he kept anything of value they left behind,” Dustin said. 

“We haven’t run into anything though,” Prompto said. “Hal said the job was done, so what happened after? He can’t just disappear. It doesn’t make sense, right?” There was a desperate edge to his words.

“He could’ve travelled further down the road,” Dustin supposed.

Gladio shook his head, but it was Prompto who answered, “I set his phone up with a compass ages back, and even if it failed, he’s honestly pretty hard to disorient to begin with.”

“And he’s not answering his phone?” Dustin asked.

“Not ‘not answering,’” Iris said, “it doesn’t go through at all, no matter where you make the call from.” Gladio knew that well enough. Shitty reception, he had told Prompto on the ride past the Disc. Now that silence meant something else.

“That adds new possibility, when you consider it,” Monica said. Gladio looked to her swiftly. “The phone would have to be either completely out of range or badly damaged. If badly damaged, the compass feature wouldn’t work, and moreover, if it were damaged, we should be able to find its remains out here, but we haven’t. I realize this is a lot of suppositions but—”

“No, that’s worth considering. But I do think,” Iris said, biting her lip as her arms folded across her chest, “there’s no point looking further down the road. There haven’t been threats yet, but the longer we go the riskier this is, and we haven’t turned up a thing. The only other area worth checking now is the steps down to the waterfall.”

Cor agreed. “That we haven’t encountered any daemons yet is uncanny luck. There’s nothing further to see here. We’ll make a quick march back to the gates and regroup by the stairs.”

Gladio looked down the road, the few feet of it he could see, but he knew it was hopeless. Ignis only needed to use the sound of the Wennath to reorient himself if he were lost, and the nearest human establishment if you took the road south was Fort Vaullery. There’s no fool who’d make for it with Burbost so near, and Ignis was the farthest thing from one. Gladio struggled to think of why he’d go down towards the plunge when so close to the gates, but Iris was right that it was the only other place worth looking. It was also the worst place Ignis could be, with the things that roamed out from the caves. Anxiety fed into the electric feeling of rage, slowly building as it failed to find either outlet or release, but Gladio grit his teeth, turned around, and the party returned together in tight formation keeping a quick pace.

Their luck did not hold out, but when the sound of hollow iron raised from the bubbling pit of hell rang through the air, Gladio felt almost grateful. He felt so deeply the instinct to kill, to let loose the anger that sparked through his limbs down through to his blade, his body not a shield, but a weapon. It itched within him, to destroy, to lash out. But between the six of them, it hardly took long, and as the giant tumbled to the ground and disappeared there was no satisfaction, no relief, no reward. The frustration only built.

They made it to the stairs, just within reach of the lights of the outpost. Monica and Dustin descended first, checking thoroughly for signs of passage, but the concrete and stone revealed nothing. Once they reached the dark ground below, they halted.

“We need to make this as quick and as thorough as we can. Spread out and stick within a 40m radius,” Cor said. “If he was here, he may have left footprints, but unless it was muddy or he strayed onto the grass, they’ve likely faded. Eyes peeled for disturbed shrubs as well. In thirty, we move on.”

Everyone fell out, searching the ground and the bushes around them. Gladio took the area closest to the stairwell. If Ignis came down here there had to be a reason for it. He wouldn’t have strayed farther than he had to. Gladio tried to pace himself, looking carefully over the ground and the highway wall for any hint, but goddamn, it was so hard to see anything, and the frantic feeling was building, becoming harder to subjugate. 

“Found something!” Monica said from her position by the looming rocks, pulling something up from the ground, tangled among the branches of a low bush. Gladio ran over before she’d finished speaking—this was it, he thought, finally a clue to point them in the right direction—but he stopped short when he saw what she held up in the light of their flashlights. A leather boot, unmistakeably Crownsguard make, red-soled and torn up around the ankle by savage teeth marks, stained darker still with what could only be blood.

Gladio stumbled forward the last few steps as the others came to gather round. Now that she had time to look the find over, Monica’s tone changed from assertive to something far more grave and forbearing. “Those holes were torn by tough incisors. A saberclaw, probably,” she said, giving it to Gladio to hold as the others gathered round. Prompto took one look at it and hid his face. Gladio could feel Iris pressing her hand against his shoulder as she looked at the object in his hands. He was distantly aware that he was shaking, a tremor taking hold of his limbs beyond his control. Cor silently gestured for him to hand it over, examining the marks closely, but only grunted in agreement that Monica had the right of it.

“The broken branches led me to it. There had to have been a lot of force to damage the shrub so badly. There was a struggle by the rocks—the moss has been disturbed. If the saberclaw damaged his leg…” Monica spoke, struggling to say it plainly. “They travel in packs usually, when they aren’t in their burrows where they…There isn’t anything else around here.” She couldn’t spit it out, the whole of her suppositions, but everyone standing there could string it together even without the guidance. Ignis had come down here. That was a fact, and the rest needed little imagination. A man who couldn’t see, attacked by a stealth predator that went for his leg, one that likely had a hungry pack behind it waiting to carry their prey off, and then there were the rocks, right there. One wrong move, backed into a corner, Gladio thought, shaking uncontrollably, one desperate struggle to fend off an attacker…

An attacker who didn’t like water.

Gladio broke through the others around him, didn’t even bother taking the path. He pulled himself up onto the ridge of rocks that formed a barrier, climbing to their crest using the full force of his strength, then half-sprinted, half-slid down recklessly to the far side where the river ran, feet catching more than once but recovering his gait through momentum and desperation. He could have broken his leg. It didn’t matter. He could have fallen and knocked himself unconscious. It didn’t matter. He’d probably cut up his hand on the sharp ledges as he climbed. It didn’t matter. He didn’t halt until he had stumbled down the rocks into the river they bordered, the water there licking over the top of his feet while he scanned the river’s surface, what little of its dark depths could be caught in the light. “Iggy,” he yelled, “Iggy!”

There was no response of course. There was never going to be. Even if Ignis had made the unlikely climb with a chewed up ankle, survived the descent, made it to the river, even if the saberclaw didn’t have company, even if the waters had deterred it, by all accounts this happened almost two days ago. Two days, blind, injured, an object of prey for beasts and daemons alike and the water here ran so fast where the waterfall joined with the Wennath.

It didn’t matter. “Iggy!” he shouted again, eyes wildly searching the all-encompassing darkness of the far shore.

All that could be seen was Cor approaching from further down the riverbank where the footpath led. He had always been a fast runner despite his large frame 

“Quiet down,” Cor said, stopping at the point where the rocks converged with the shore. 

“You want me to quiet down? Quiet—Iggy!” Gladio shouted again, ignoring Cor, despair creeping deeper inside of him.

“You’ll attract trouble if you go on shouting like that,” Cor said.

“I could use trouble right now. Iggy!” He took a step further into the water, though it afforded him nothing.

“Gladiolus. Stop this,” commanded Cor, his expression severe in the periphery of the light. “You have answers enough.”

“Answers? That ain’t no answer,” Gladio said, helpless as his mind’s eye put together the scene that had been provided all too vividly. “He didn’t go down fighting a goddamn saberclaw!”

“Better that,” Cor said grimly, “than that he was turned.”

Memories of Iedolus, of Ravus, of the empty uniforms of Zegnautus Keep, those from the scattered outposts of Lucis that hadn’t made it to safety, stirred in Gladio. Memories of all the daemons he’d killed and never been sure just who they were. Better this, and this was…?

Gladio wanted to punch Cor in the face. He didn’t. Instead the gravity of the situation, the tiny clues that pointed to an outcome, an entirely plausible, unextraordinary, horrendous outcome, the absence of any other signs, the utter silence ringing in his ears as his desperate cries earned no living answer, overcame him and he sank to his knees in the shallows of the river Wennath, looking without answer at the black water, dark rocks, dying trees.

Better this than, what? Nothing.

 

What passed from that moment Gladio wouldn’t have been able to describe, only that it was with an utter absence of feeling, an absence from his own body it seemed, that he and Cor returned along the rocks to the footpath, narrowly escaping the sights of a pair of ronin prowling along the shore; that they rejoined the others who’d continued searching the area Monica covered and found only further marks of struggle, blood, fur, a chip of tinted glass, evidence minute and yet damning; that the six of them returned to Burbost; that they shuffled back into the truck, and drove long hours to Lestallum in eternal night. Nothing that passed in that time could he remember feeling, being, doing, even as the truck pulled into Lestallum just after midnight, as they unloaded, some going on ahead to HQ, others staying behind, walking together through the narrow, sweltering streets. 

But feeling came crushing down upon Gladio the moment he opened the apartment door. It had been nearly two weeks since he’d been home. Arriving now, every joy that he looked forward to on homecoming seemed to turn to poison, an acute venom that spread through an open wound as Gladio looked at the dress shoes on the shoe rack, the seldom-used cane sitting in the umbrella stand, the cheaply-framed photo of the four of them holding up the “Devil of the Cygilian” under the Galdin Quay sun on the wall of the narrow entryway, and everything else besides. 

Talcott and Cid, who must have let themselves in much earlier if the partially emptied whiskey bottle on the coffee table was any indication, looked up hopefully from where they were seated only to see them arrive without additions.

Cid broke the silence first, turning to look back at the glass in front of him. “‘S a damn shame,” he said. 

Talcott moved from the couch to stand and looked them over searchingly. Iris shook her head and pushed past Gladio, going to the cupboard. She took out some glasses and set them on the coffee table next to Cid’s whiskey. “I think we could all use a round,” she said, her voice raw but steady.

“Yeah, count me in,” Prompto said, tear tracks marking his face as he threw himself into the armchair opposite Cid’s.

“You kids gotta mind yourselves with this one,” Cid said, glassy-eyed from a long evening of drinking, as he poured out the amber liquid into the tumblers. “She ain’t no cheap hooch got for a couple gil at the Mini Mart. She’s fine Insomnian whiskey.”

“I remember Dad used to drink this,” Iris said, eyeing up the label, and Gladio struggled to recall whether she was right or not, so long ago that seemed. “At least,” she continued, “I know he kept a bottle in the liquor cabinet back home. Don’t think I ever saw him drinking, but then he was hardly ever home to begin with.”

Cid huffed a laugh. “‘Rus and I had our disagreements, but not over this. Your old man knew his spirits,” he said, topping up his own glass after pouring out the others. “Unlike Reggie. I remember ‘Rus and Wes trying to beat some appreciation into him during the trip, but Reggie never saw much difference between cheap swill and the good stuff, even though he could have the best there was. Said it all worked the same.”

“Like father, like son,” Prompto said with a sniff, taking a glass from Iris. “Wonder if Noct ever knew that.”

Iris came over to where Gladio was standing, leaning against the back of a kitchen chair. “Here,” she said, holding the other glass out to him. He didn’t quite trust his hands at the moment, but he took it anyway, and she moved back to sit on the small couch, taking the last glass for her own. Cid raised his drink and the rest of them matched him, but no one was ready to make the toast and so in silence Cid brought it to his lips and took a long draw, and the rest of them followed suite.

Talcott was still standing next to Cid’s armchair, eyeing them up as they settled in. “So,” he said quietly, “you didn’t find anything, then?”

“Nothing—” Iris began to say, her voice tense, lips thinned, “nothing good.”

Cid licked his lips briefly, before saying, “Did ya figure what it was, in the end?”

“Saberclaws, most likely,” Iris said, fingers clasped tight around the glass in her hands.

Cid closed his eyes and nodded his head. “Nasty buggers,” he mumbled to himself.

“We found a Crownsguard boot all chewed up,” Iris finished saying, not wanting to deprive Talcott of what closure there might be, however bleak it seemed.

“You’re sure it was his?” Talcott asked, coming closer to Iris and Prompto.

“Yeah,” said Gladio from behind him, his voice so low it could hardly be heard. “Custom-made. Ain’t another just like it.”

“Technically, there is one other,” Prompto said with a smile that looked more like a grimace. It got a dark laugh out of Iris—it seemed she couldn’t stop, even—but the laughter slowly descended into something more heartbreaking, and she put down her glass as she buried her hands in her head and began to sob. Gladio slung back his whiskey faster than he ought and moved over to his sister, perching on the edge of the couch and wrapping one of his arms around her, pulling her into a bear hug. He could feel her tears through the fabric of his tank top, and the shaky grip of her fingers as they came about his waist, letting her big brother comfort her for the moment.

Gladio held her while the sobbing subsided, trying to hold back the flood of emotion that would spill over within him and be strong for her. Prompto was wiping tears away again in the corner while Talcott watched sympathetically, eyes watery, no doubt wishing to comfort Iris as she had once comforted him, so much loss between them. Cid topped up their glasses in the meanwhile, and though the clock read 12:24 it wasn’t long before there were more people at the door. Iris pulled away from Gladio’s grasp then, looking up as Cor and Monica and Dustin shuffled in, returned from headquarters. As they made their greetings, Iris moved away from Gladio, hastily brushing away her tears and standing up. Gladio ended up following her to his feet. It was a tight squeeze, to have this many in the apartment.

Dustin came to sit on the couch, looking at the bottle on the coffee table. “Wild Cockatrice? 10 year, too. How did you find that?”

“Gift from Cindy for my birthday not long back. Don’t know what she had to do to get it, but it musta been picked up by one of them salvage trucks,” Cid replied, with a subtle glow of grandfatherly love in his expression. Tough as nails, Cid was, but a few sheets to the wind and the gentle heart behind it came out every once in a while.

Iris was coming back from the cupboard bringing more cups, or rather, two wine glasses, a shot glass and a coffee mug. His favourite, Gladio noticed—the one she’d bought for him not long after they first moved in that read “NO TALKING ‘TIL I’VE DONE 20 REPS” in blocky letters.

“Sorry,” Iris said, “not enough proper glasses to go around. You guys are gonna have to make do.” She filled one of the wine glasses and passed it to Dustin. “Monica?” she asked.

“Please,” Monica said, coming over to take the other wine glass from her. For the moment she moved to sit by Dustin. Talcott, in the meanwhile, sat on the floor next to the armchair Prompto occupied, stringy legs stretched out in front of him.

“Cor?” Iris asked, picking up the shot glass and the mug in either hand and balancing them like an imaginary scale.

“Not gonna stiff me with that stuff,” Cor said. He grabbed one of the chairs from the kitchen table, turning it around and sitting down.

Iris put the cups down and began pouring whiskey into the mug. While she played at being hostess, Gladio moved out of the circle, standing by the kitchen wall.

“Don’t remember you ever learning to ‘preciate good spirits,” Cid grumbled. “Used to be as bad as Reggie back in the day.”

“I was fifteen,” Cor said with a roll of his eyes. He muttered a quick “thanks” to Iris as she passed him the mug.

“Pretty sure I’ve seen you drink stuff that would turn a chocobo bald since,” Cid sniped back.

“Can’t be worse than that moonshine you tried to make back in your garage,” Cor said, giving the whiskey a sniff. “Don’t know how we ever made it to Altissia.”

They seemed set to continue until a loud growl from Prompto’s vicinity interrupted their argument.

“Sorry,” Prompto said sheepishly as everyone looked to him, rubbing his hand against his stomach. “Missed dinner. Kinda hungry now that I think of it.”

“You’re not the only one, I think,” Monica said, “I can try and fix something up, if you’d like?” She stood up, taking her glass with her. 

“I’ll help,” Iris said, moving to the cupboard where most of the dry foods were kept, “I know my way around this kitchen better than Gladdy does.”

Gladio leaned back heavily against the wall, watching her retreat with Monica, and felt utterly lost. 

“That is good,” Dustin said, filling the renewed silence as he put his whiskey-filled wine glass down on one of the cheap EXINERIS coasters scattered on the low table. Holly had thrown them in as a freebie from one of the missions they carried out for her over the years. 

“It takes you back to Crown City days,” Monica agreed, from where she stood at the counter.

“It does,” Dustin said, thumbing the lip of the glass. “Well, as it is,” he said, raising his gaze to look at the others again, “it was long ago now, but I still remember the first time I encountered Ignis.” 

Talcott nodded his head as Dustin spoke, taking an interest in old Crownsguard stories. Gladio unconsciously raised a hand to massage his temple. His head felt like radio static was ringing through it, although the whiskey was taking off some of the edge.

“I was on watch duty,” Dustin said, “and we were all in a frenzy because the Prince had gone missing from his rooms. When we finally found him, the two of them were up on the Sky Walk pretending to be part of a tour group. Ignis told us they were there for the prince’s historical studies. For someone so young, he was a very quick thinker—but a terrible liar, naturally.”

“He got better at that,” Prompto said, his smile a little wistful. “Noct, you know, Noct’s awful when you put him on the spot. He couldn’t come up with a cover story to save his life. The number of times I saw him call Ignis over to make excuses for who we were or what we were doing on the trip…”

“I don’t know,” Iris said, turning her head towards Prompto even as her hands were busy with chopping vegetables. “Noct really came through for me once, when I got in trouble.”

“He did?” Prompto asked, surprised.

“He even fooled Gladdy for a bit, until I told him,” Iris said. “It got him grounded for weeks.”

“Huh,” Prompto said. “What do you do when you’re grounded in a place like the Citadel?”

Gladio answered, reaching back into memory, “Iggy buried him under assignments. I had to spring Noct free for training every once in awhile to make up for it.”

“How’d Ignis feel about that?” Prompto asked.

“Dunno,” Gladio said, “We didn’t really know each other at the time.” It was an admission that hurt somehow now. They had existed at orbit around Noctis for many of those years, knowing of the other but seldom crossing paths until Ignis had started both sitting in on council meetings and furthering his physical training, and Gladio had begun to see more of who he was. 

Noct had long complained to him of Ignis’ nagging, but up close Gladio saw in it also the tenderness, the tirelessness, the staggering capability and the stifling coddling. Gladio reacted, sought to argue with excess and to acknowledge what went underappreciated, and their push and pull of support and criticism began. With Ignis he felt always in a constant state of reaction.

“It’s hard to imagine,” Prompto said. “I know I didn’t really start hanging out around Noct until high school, but it seemed like as soon as I did you both were there giving me the third degree about whether I was gonna be a bad influence on him.”

“We had to get our kicks somehow,” Gladio responded although it was half-hearted. He took another long drink of his whiskey, letting it burn down his throat.

“So I remember,” Prompto said, when it became clear Gladio wasn’t going to say more, “when me and Noct were working on this Civics project, which was really stupid because it was about creating a petition for a government bureau of our choice, and like, what was Noct gonna gain from learning how to write petitions? But Ignis didn’t agree, and he wouldn’t even help Noct come up with ideas or anything because he said it’d be good for him to think from the opposite perspective—something like that—but funnily enough, he helped me out a lot.” Prompto paused, but the only interruption was the sound of a sizzling frying pan as he took a moment to lay out the story. 

“It was a joke,” Prompto continued, “but I came up with a petition for the Insomnia Dairy Commission that I wanted free yogurt for a year, and Ignis got kind of invested in it—he still said I had to do the work—but he helped me make it as over-the-top formal and ridiculous as we could, even got me some fancy letterhead and helped cite some obscure historical precedent for why I should get all this yogurt.” Prompto laughed. “We just got really into while were writing it, and Ignis even took the final petition with him to meetings and got signatures from, I don’t know, other Crownsguard or interns with a sense of humour, I guess, not anyone too important, I don’t think, but it was fun, and when I turned it in to the teacher—well, the teacher had promised that any petitions that had been done correctly would be properly submitted, so even though he was kind of mad that I wasn’t taking it seriously, it did get sent. The funny thing was I got a letter back from the dairy people, official and everything, telling me no, but there was also another letter that came later from someone on the board who said I had the ‘right idea’ for a kid and sent me, like, two hundred coupons for yogurt. I couldn’t even use them all before they expired but it was…” Prompto said, with a shake of his head, “I don’t know, it’s just something I think on when I remember how different my first impression of him was to…things like that.”

“I know what you mean,” Iris said, looking at Prompto. “When I first met him, he seemed so grownup to me—way more than Gladdy, right? But the more you got to know him...” Iris put the spatula down on the counter for a moment, facing the others as she tried to pin down what she wanted to share. “I only think I saw it happen once before, but I remember one time he and Dad were talking at some important occasion—I don’t know, I was happy I got to dress up and not be excluded like I always was, but I was mostly bored for the whole thing—but they were talking, and Dad, I mean, he always had the worst jokes,” Iris said. 

Cid harrumphed, while the other Crownsguard nodded or smiled. There was probably no one close to Clarus Amicitia who had escaped his dreadful sense of humour. 

Iris continued, “And Ignis, well, you know, the endless parade of puns, and when you put them together it was a nightmare! I mean, my sides were hurting from laughing so much but also from groaning because it was all so…bad. Like when you don’t know why you’re laughing but you are?”

“No, you’ve got it right,” Monica said, shaking her head. “It was rare you saw them together—I, is that right?” she asked, looking to Gladio.

Gladio nodded his head, letting her know it was okay to go on. It was true that despite how long they had been together, Iris was the only family Ignis had much opportunity to get to know. His father had already been increasingly absent and busy at the time their relationship had started, and Gladio had been at a more selfish age where he wanted his family to stay as far away from his relationships as possible. He was grateful that they had gotten along as things became more serious, but times like Iris and Monica were talking about were indeed few.

“—but when they did,” Monica said, picking up from where she left off, “they would just keep at it until you couldn’t help yourself. It was torture.”

“They were alike, in some ways,” Cor said, but didn’t elaborate, taking another drink instead.

“‘Rus wasn’t half so serious,” Cid said, with a shake of his head.

“He got to be, over time,” Cor rebutted.

“I guess,” Talcott said, speaking up from where he was sitting on the floor, his hands clasped tightly together around his knees, “I always thought of Ignis as serious, but in a good way? Especially after my grandpa…” Talcott shook his head as if to steer clear of those thoughts, “When he listens, he listens, you know? And he always remembers things, even the little things…like how he always makes cactuar cakes for my birthday, or—”

“He made Gladio a Cup Noodles cake when we were on the road,” Prompto said. “It was kind of disturbing and amazing at the same time, like, you didn’t want to eat it because it was artistic and all and also ‘cause it resembled noodle packaging?” Prompto’s face scrunched up remembering. He perked up again as he continued gesturing wildly, drinking whiskey on an empty stomach clearly taking an effect. “But it was good in the end! Just normal cake inside.”

“He truly had a gift,” said Dustin, leaning back against the sofa. “Where did it start I wonder? I suppose living alone when so young…?”

Gladio filled in the silence. “Nah, it probably started where most things did for him,” he said, avoiding the direct gazes of the others, staring vaguely at the coffee table instead, “with Noct.” 

Prompto shook his head knowingly, raising his thumb up to wipe away a tear. Gladio kept going, though he didn’t know why, “Coming up with recipes, perfecting them, was part of it, but it was never really about the cooking itself, just a way to make the people he cared about happy. So much…so much of—” 

Gladio couldn’t finish, a sudden sense of nausea sweeping over him. He didn’t know why it was so hard to articulate something that was so clear and simple, evident to anyone who knew Ignis closely. So much of what Ignis was and did was about others. Where Gladio might have had a gift at making quick, warm connections, Ignis’ was a gift of unbounded consideration, care, a near inexhaustible giving of time, attention and comfort to those he held dear. It manifested in buttons re-sewn and fuss over mending wounds and cakes that looked like cactuars and Cup Noodles, in listening seriously to a boy after he’d lost his grandfather, in comforting two young men as they lost their fathers, taking decisions into his hands when they lacked the energy to make those calls, in planning ten steps ahead so that no matter the uncontrollable roadblocks there’d be a way to confront the unpredictable and steer them back to smooth roads. 

And yet Ignis was selfish, despite this, needing to prove himself with a terrifying relentlessness, burning himself out taking on more responsibilities than one person should bear, pushing himself beyond limits to show he could exceed standards no one was holding him to. It was what led him to Burbost—a need to help, actively and markedly, a need to preserve the kingdom that belonged to Noctis and a need to prove he could fight, and do it as effortlessly as the rest of them could. No one asked him to prove that, but Ignis was never someone who waited to be asked anything. For all his contingencies and planning, there were some things Ignis refused to steer clear of, risks he would let himself and others confront head on, knowing their time and place. Discretion had always been one of his great virtues, but never had cowardice been among his vices.

What meaning did that have now? Lost in such thoughts, Gladio hardly even noticed Iris coming up to him before she squeezed his arm lightly. He looked at her as she handed him a plate with a croque madame and some stir-fried vegetables on it, not elegantly arranged, but the aroma of fried food enticing nonetheless.

He accepted it, and did his best to beat back the feeling of sickness. He realized he was ravenously hungry, though he couldn’t say he was conscious of it before, and so he tried to push the nausea away and eat what was in front of him. He was hardly the only one. Monica and Iris had distributed the food and both squished back onto the couch with Dustin, barely room for the three of them there, and everyone present was eating with zeal, the conversation shifting to trading grateful remarks towards the chefs and meaningless chatter about the midnight meal.

Prompto finished his quickly, letting out a long sigh as he put his plate down. “That was really great, thanks, you two,” he said. He picked up his tumbler and watched the tiny beads of whiskey in the bottom circle as he swirled it around. “Ugh, I don’t think I can do more whiskey right now.” He stood up and went over to the sink to rinse it out, taking his plate with him. He then opened the fridge, examining its contents closely.

“Wait a second, don’t you have any beer? Or anything?” he said, frowning at Gladio from where he stood, although his tone was jesting.

“Might not,” Gladio said, brows drawing together as he made his way over, leaving his plate on the counter as well. It had been awhile since he’d been home, and he and Ignis had very different preferences when it came to liquor. Peering into the fridge confirmed that there was nothing save for homemade Duscaen orange juice, milk, cold coffee and a bottle of white, those and possibly syrup were the only drinkable things inside.

“So that’s a no-go,” Prompto said, shutting the fridge door and moving where he knew the rest of the liquor was stored in a cupboard below the counter. Gladio retreated again, reclaiming his glass from the kitchen table and going over to fill it with more whiskey, leaving Prompto to his search. 

“Whiskey again, nope, tequila, hell no, why do you even have that?” Prompto said with disbelief as he vocally examined the contents of the cupboard. He kept going when Gladio didn’t rise to it, “Amaretto…I’m gonna regret asking this, but do you have anything to mix it with other than what I saw in the fridge?”

“No,” Gladio said, although he had mostly tuned the room out again as the feeling of pressure inside his head increased.

“Ugh, and coffee’s a real bad idea right now. Okay,” Prompto said with an adventurous but dismal look. “Amaretto orange juice it is—anyone else game?”

Iris threw back the last of her glass and set it down. “I’ll give it a try.” 

“Knew I could count on you,” Prompto said, coming over and fetching her glass. He paused for a moment, looking down at Talcott picking reluctantly at his food from his spot next to the armchair. “What about you? Just for tonight.”

“I, uh,” Talcott said, looking around the room warily. Seeing no adult move to stop him, he answered confidently, “Yeah.”

Prompto came back a few seconds later with drinks for them both, Talcott’s sparer than Iris’. 

“Sorry it’s in a plastic cup. Not too fast, okay?” Prompto said as he handed it over. 

“I know,” Talcott said, trying to seem more mature than he was. Gladio knew what it was like when you felt as though you were being treated like an adult for the first time. 

Prompto retrieved his own glass from the counter and sat back down, clinking glasses with Iris and Talcott before announcing, “Moment of truth!” 

All three of them took a drink. Talcott’s instinctively averse reaction was predictable although he tried to downplay it, but Iris and Prompto were considering what they had drunk with more ambiguous expressions.

“Huh,” Iris said, looking the glass over. “That’s not actually as bad as I was expecting?”

“Yeah,” Prompto said, “It’s kind of, I don’t know, breakfast-y? But the almond’s not so bad with the citrus.”

Gladio thought he might have heard Cor mumble, “Kids,” under his breath before he moved forward to top up his glass with the Wild Cockatrice, offering Monica some while he was at it, having come to the end of hers. Everyone else was drinking a little slower now, and Cid had probably had quite enough for the evening, quiet and red-faced.

“So,” Monica asked as a solemn silence fell about the room, Prompto’s experiments hardly more than a brief diversion. “Circumstances being what they are, there’re a few things that will need arranging. But the most important thing, I guess, is, well, was there anything Ignis would have wanted?”

The question cut across Gladio’s chest like a honed blade. 

What would Ignis have wanted?

He wanted Noctis to come back, to take the throne and take back their city. He wanted to look after those he cared about, to protect them with his intelligence and comfort them with his actions. He wanted clarity in all aspects of his life, in his duties, in his hobbies, in his lovers and his friends. The things Ignis wanted were a reflection of every aspect of who he was.

“I don’t think so,” Gladio heard Prompto give the answer he failed to. “He never really liked a fuss, about anything.”

“S’always those fussin’ about others as want the least hullabaloo for themselves,” Cid said.

“Then this will have to be enough,” Cor said, raising his glass. He waited for the others to follow suite, plates set aside, the motley assortment of glasses reached for, a sombre mood overtaking them all as they looked from one to another in silence. 

“To Ignis,” Cor made his toast. “Son of Lucis, to the end.”

“To Ignis,” echoed about the room, as everyone took a long drink.

Through the haze of the whiskey coiling around his mind, it hit Gladio, very fiercely, that this was a wake.

He found himself stumbling to put his glass on the table, moving to the bedroom to get away from everyone, from the noise in his head even. Upon closing the door he was assaulted painfully again by the marks of the life they shared situated all about the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, cupping his face in his hands, elbows perched on his knees, needing to steady himself somehow. 

The others were out there drinking, sharing stories. They were mourning Ignis. That was what this was. They were grieving a loss, so that life could move on. Ignis was gone. The truth of that hit again, and it struck deeper than before. He broke down.

He heard the door open and close as Iris followed him in. She came to sit next to him on the bed and he crushed her within his grip, sobbing openly against her hair, agonized sounds ripped from his throat where it seemed a chasm had opened within him, a great emptiness of space that swallowed up the good, the hopeful, the familiar. It choked out of him like a cruel torrent, tears streaming down his face, unable to keep them back, and even as his eyes felt dry, his throat too raw to speak, the grief wrecked its way out of him. Ignis was gone. Everything that they had together, the future, the destiny that they had kept their eyes on unfailingly, sharing the duty of being the right and left hand of the Chosen King was gone. 

Yet despite the harrowing burden of that, it wasn’t the big picture that overwhelmed him. It was all the little, insignificant things, the details of a life so long shared. Never to sit together reading aloud again, never to argue about how much Ebony was too much. Their routines: the way Ignis greeted him on homecoming, and the anticipation Gladio felt every time he found himself reading listlessly on the couch, waiting for the sound of the key in the lock; playing cards together on nights without sleep or solace; those rarest of mornings where he could kiss Ignis awake, lips lightly pressing over the sharp planes of his face until he twitched toward wakefulness, half-heartedly batting Gladio away and complaining of morning breath and insufficient caffeination; watching Ignis concoct his endless culinary creations and enjoying the spoils; haggling with the shopkeepers in the Lestallum market; the seductive curve of his lips whenever Gladio carefully removed his gloves; the frustration over misplaced items in the apartment; the silly wordplay; the warmth of him when they lay together, and all those precious memories of their journey, with Noct. 

It was brutal, wave after wave of grief washing through him, surfacing memory over and again, and despite his too-tight grasp Iris patiently bore with it, gently patting his back, saying meaningless things meant to soothe the tide of heartbreak. What was the last thing Gladio had said to Ignis? Did he even know? A phone call, maybe, a few days ago from Alstor Slough, with Ignis here, home, and how did they end it? The usual way, he could only suppose, perhaps, “I’ll be back soon,” or, “I miss you.” 

That wasn’t missing, Gladio thought. Days ago there was only the desire to return to something that was there, waiting for you, to not further prolong a separation. Now there was an emptiness where missing was all there could be. If he said the words now, they would hold irrevocably true, and he hated the world more for it. And what did Ignis usually say when he called? “It’s good to hear your voice,” or something like it. Gladio could speak all the words he wanted and they would come to nothing. He would never be there to listen.

Iris stayed with Gladio throughout all the tears, rubbing his back soothingly, returning his support with patience, until the tears were stemmed in their flow and they sat there in silence, leaving the others to do as they would, ignoring the sounds of movement and conversation on the other side of the wall, letting nothing disturb them in their quiet vigil. Eventually, however, they were disrupted by a knock on the door, and Iris pulled her arm away from where it rested over Gladio’s shoulders, standing up to go see who it was.

“Hey,” Prompto said, as she opened the door. He looked like shit, but he probably wasn’t the only one in present company that could be said of.

“Are the others gone already?” Iris asked, stepping out into the main room. Knowing it was only the three of them, Gladio took a moment to gather himself and then joined them in the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s pretty late. We got a bit of a complaint from the neighbours actually, but, you know, I think they understood. But everyone thought it was about time to head home. We did do our best to clean up first,” Prompto said, nodding to the dishes piled precariously high in the drying rack. 

“Hmm,” Iris said, nodding. “Are you staying here tonight?”

Gladio had been standing there, listening idly, but as soon as her words came out he froze, looking to the “spare” bedroom that friends usually occupied when they stayed over.

Prompto and Iris picked up on his reaction, he knew, but Prompto was quick to deflect, “You’ve got a futon I can put down somewhere, right?” he asked Gladio.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, his voice raspy and throat sore.

“Works for me,” Prompto said, turning back to Iris.

“Then I guess I’ll head out for the night,” Iris said, “let you two get some rest.” They both walked her to the door and once she’d put on her boots she hugged Prompto warmly, before turning to Gladio and giving him one last squeeze. “If you need me, just call. I won’t mind,” she spoke reassuringly, before letting go and taking her leave.

There was a long silence after the door shut behind her before Prompto tried and failed to put on a lighter-hearted façade as he said, “So, I think I’m gonna take advantage of your shower if you don’t mind.”

“Go for it. Just don’t use up all the hot water,” Gladio said.

“No promises,” Prompto replied. He moved to pick up a pack from the floor of the entryway, throwing it to Gladio. “Here,” he said, as he picked up his own, “the others brought them along from headquarters.” He fished out a few things and went over to the tiny bathroom, leaving Gladio to arrange the sleeping situation.

Gladio moved to the second bedroom and swallowed as his hand hovered over the doorknob, but he didn’t let himself linger for long, and pushed it open suddenly to get it over with. Was this something he was never going to escape, he wondered, the feeling of walking into a room and seeing Ignis everywhere within it? He couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering back to when they’d first been searching for a place in Lestallum, when they finally had come across this apartment and discussed it upon their return to the Hunters’ lodgings where they’d been staying for the time being.

Despite its drawbacks—a few floors up, a cramped bathroom, a narrow second bedroom so filled with furniture it made navigation awkward, old pipes and tacky wallpaper in the main seating area (just because Ignis couldn’t see it didn’t mean Ignis wouldn’t be bothered by it)—Gladio had felt better about it than most of what they’d looked at and he made his argument as best he could. 

“And unlike that one close to the plant, we’d have a spare room if anyone needs a place to crash,” Gladio had said, satisfied at having presented a case without dispute, although that was only really because Ignis hardly disagreed—he simply saw no harm in establishing points in favour and against.

Leave it to Ignis to goad Gladio into a reaction anyway. “Actually, I’d like that room for myself,” Ignis said thoughtfully, drumming his gloved fingertips against his chin.

“What?” Gladio said, feeling apprehensive at the sudden suggestion.

“No need to act injured,” Ignis said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “It’s the only room with a desk, no? It’ll be good to work in,”

“That room is too small to think in,” Gladio complained.

“You forget what my flat in Insomnia was like,” Ignis said with a small smile. “It may even help me be more productive.”

“But—” Gladio said, undeterred by how casually Ignis was treating the subject.

“We can still put our friends up there when they visit,” Ignis said, even though he knew that wasn’t what was bothering Gladio. “I assume you’re not about to kick me out of bed?”

“Unlikely,” Gladio said under his breath.

“So then what’s the problem? It seems like a good arrangement to me,” Ignis said, trying to get Gladio to either spit out what his issue was or see that there really wasn’t one.

“People are gonna think I’m some asshole who keeps you in my broom cupboard,” Gladio grumbled, trying to deflect, little good it might do him in the long run.

“So long as you let me out of the closet every once in awhile…” Ignis replied smiling wickedly, drawing in close and tracing his fingers along the fabric of Gladio’s tank top where the head of the inked eagle rested beneath. He didn’t need to see it to know where it lay.

“Iggy,” Gladio said. Ignis let go and shrugged his shoulders dismissively, having little patience for when Gladio got into a “sulk” as he called it.

“Nobody is going to think anything about what’s hardly their business,” Ignis said confidently. “It’ll be good. We can share the master bedroom and I’ll have somewhere to be on my own if I get tired of looking at your face.”

If there was one way to snap Gladio out of a mood, that was it. “That’s not funny,” he said.

“Can’t see the humour in it?” Ignis asked, not to be deterred.

Gladio groaned. “The closet’s yours if you stop that,” he said. 

Ignis’ smile in response was infuriatingly attractive and Gladio made no move to deny him as he leaned in for a kiss, as though to seal the whole matter with the brush of their lips, the taste of his tongue, the nip of his teeth against Gladio’s bottom lip.

If Ignis had pressed him, Gladio might have eventually confessed to it—the reason behind his reluctance was immature but obvious and he knew it. Since the beginning of their journey, they had been so long in close quarters on the road, in the tent, in shitty motel rooms and fancy Altissian suites, and train sleeper cars, sharing what little space they had with Noctis and Prompto, that Gladio was afraid to lose the closeness, that feeling of having someone near. The two of them had managed perfectly happily before in Insomnia, living apart and still finding time enough for romance, but their time spent travelling had changed their relationship and Gladio was, not excited, really, but sway to an urgent need to maintain that proximity and intimacy. He wanted them to have their own place, finally. He wanted them to share in everything in it. He had gotten so used to such closeness and openness that something as trivial as Ignis wanting to have a separate room felt less trivial and more like a rejection instead. Gladio knew that Ignis knew this, had probably figured him out before the conversation really started, and left the breadcrumb trail of words for Gladio to follow until he arrived at the point of compromise. One room “shared” as Ignis called it, one room his own. 

It had proved sensible, as most of Ignis’ ideas did, and before long they had moved in. They filled up the closets and drawers of the second room with things that wouldn’t fit in the first room, and all the while it gave Ignis a quiet workspace, offered a spare place to sleep for Prompto or others passing through, or when one of them was due to come in late didn’t wish to disturb the other. It was a place where Ignis could retreat to focus, or for when they had become too irritated with each other and needed some distance. Gladio began to get used to the idea of being apart again (to the regrettable point it had almost become more normal to be away than not) and the situation more or less had remained the same until now, with Gladio standing within the doorway and feeling like it was wrong to even be here. The master bedroom was theirs, but the “spare” room had always been, in part of Gladio’s mind, Ignis’, and to disturb that felt intolerable now.

He mentally squared up and pushed his feet forward, telling himself to focus on what he needed, flipping on the light and walking through the cramped space to one of the closets where the futon was stored. He pulled it and a spare pillow out and quickly left the room, taking it over to the master bedroom instead. He spread the futon out on the floor next to the bed and then returned to the other room. He intended only to close the door, to shut up that room until he was ready to deal with it, but he found his feet leading him back in, moving to the bedside cabinet. Inside the drawer were a few small things, ones that saw little use but were keepsakes nonetheless: a fine (but unfortunately mechanical) watch that had been a gift from Ignis’ uncle on his twentieth birthday, a few tie-pins, his parents’ tarnished wedding bands, and a little carbuncle statuette that Gladio knew to be Noct’s. Gladio breathed in and then out deeply, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the skull necklace, looking at it glint dully under the light. He placed it gently in the drawer, and closed it smoothly, running his hand over the top of the wood. No sooner had he drawn back his hand than his calm dissipated, and he hurriedly withdrew, switching off the lights and closing the door with an almost slam. He needed to sit down.

He wasn’t long left to the emptiness of the apartment, however, as Prompto emerged from the shower, spiky blond hair now sodden and clinging to his neck. 

“It’s all yours,” Prompto said, heading back over to where he left his bag.

Gladio nodded and grabbed a few things, heading in quickly afterward. This was perhaps the least painful of rooms, so few personal effects kept there. There was Ignis’ straight razor, a bottle of hair gel, their toothbrushes, and various toiletries they usually shared, but that was all. The real shock was seeing his own face in the mirror. Gladio found he couldn’t even hold his own gaze. It was too overwhelming. He went about his business quickly, bone-tired, feeling like he’d been run over by a truck. No amount of hot water could wash that feeling away. He emerged from the bathroom to find Prompto sitting down in one of the chairs with his camera, scrolling through pictures.

Prompto jumped to attention, trying to hide the camera away before realizing there was no point. Gladio didn’t say anything, just watched as he stored it properly away in his bag.

“You good?” Prompto asked, “‘Cause I’m ready to catch some zzz-s.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said. “Got the futon rolled out earlier.”

“You should drink some water before you sleep. Gotta stay hydrated,” Prompto said with fake enthusiasm, picking up the water glass on the coffee table and draining it.

“Since when did you start acting like the responsible one?” Gladio asked, his voice gruff.

“Dunno,” Prompto said weakly. “Well, I’m heading in.”

Gladio watched him disappear into the room as he stood in the kitchen, filling up a glass for himself. Prompto was right, in any case, even if it burned to have someone like him coddling him. It wasn’t long before Gladio finished and he shut off the apartment lights before entering the room. Prompto was already comfortably settled in, playing with his phone. 

“You good?” Gladio asked.

“Sure am,” Prompto said. “Reminds me of camping! But comfier. Although I still have to put up with your snoring.”

“Shut up,” Gladio said, turning the light off and navigating around him into his own bed, the mattress soft and familiar, too much so. Gladio wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, whether it was real or it was simply what he wanted to believe, but he thought he could smell Ignis’ scent upon the pillows, and the space next to him felt like an emptiness that went on without limit. And this was how it would always be? He squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness all around him.

It was only a few minutes of rustling bed sheets and failed attempts to find a comfortable sleeping position before he heard Prompto manoeuvre into some kind of sitting position on the floor next to him. “Did you ever think…” Prompto began, voice trailing off.

“What?” Gladio said, keeping his eyes closed, unwilling to deal with any more talking—any more of anything—tonight.

“Did you ever think it was just going to be us?” Prompto asked miserably. “God, I wish…”

“Just get some sleep,” Gladio said, cutting him off. He didn’t need this now, following the thread of “I wish” “what if” and “had I not.” His own mind would lead him down that road as it pleased. It did them no good to talk about it, and Gladio had had enough of words, the little solace they offered.

He heard Prompto sniff a few times, before giving a quiet hum of agreement as he settled back down. They didn’t speak any further, but even so Gladio could be fairly certain when at last he stirred from bed in the dark of the next day that neither of them had found any rest that night.


	2. II

Gladio felt drained as he woke to darkness, head ringing, tongue dry and muscles stiff all over. He dragged himself up, knowing his day wasn’t going to get any better than this, that it made no difference how long he tried to hold out against consciousness, the awareness would always be there. Ignis was gone. Gone, even when the drawers were still full of his clothes and fridge still full of canned coffee and the freezer still full of leftovers he’d packaged, each one labelled with textured stickers even though Gladio was the one who devoured most of them, grabbing them for the road. There was nowhere Gladio could turn that Ignis’ absence would not be cruelly in his face. 

He took a shower to try and feel more awake. In the end he burned through all the hot water, not wanting to move, to face the day. He didn’t bother shaving; he didn’t have the energy. Prompto had gotten up and got coffee going in the meanwhile, and traded off on hogging the bathroom as soon as Gladio was out.

Passing on the coffee, which he never much cared for, Gladio called Iris first, and learned she and Cor had headed out to scour the cliffs of Taelpar Crag for threats. “Just stay in,” she told him when he offered to join them. All he could do in the end was tell her to take care of herself. 

They stayed in that day, the people they knew seeking them out at the apartment. Holly stopped by before her shift, bringing a casserole and words of sympathy. Weskham came by, bringing a bottle of wine which they uncorked despite the early hour, sharing a glass and reminiscing until he left to prepare the bistro for opening. A few of the neighbours dropped in, expressing sympathy and seeking information, the news having slowly diffused through gossip and speculation to the rest of the building. Having Prompto there to help deal with the stream of visitors, some earnest, some nosy but well-meaning, a few truly close friends, relieved Gladio from having to do it all on his own. Gladio may have had an easy way with people most days, but there was only so much he could handle under the circumstances.

“We should really get this in the freezer or something,” Prompto said, holding Holly’s lasagne dish at eyelevel after she left, trying to see what was in it.

“Don’t think there’s room,” Gladio said.

“What you got in there?” Prompto said, setting it down and opening the freezer door to peek in. “Whoa,” he said, staring at the deeply packed freezer. “Is that all Iggy’s cooking?”

“Yeah,” Gladio said, rubbing at his temple slowly.

“I didn’t think he’d ever heard of leftovers. Illusions. Shattered,” Prompto said, closing the door. “How old do you think that stuff is?”

“Dunno,” Gladio admitted. “He had a system in his head I think. Anything expired he’d’ve thrown out, but I don’t know how long the rest’s good for. Probably a while.”

“Well, there is no room in there,” Prompto said, eyeing the casserole once more. “I guess we could cook this now and keep it in the fridge?”

“If you’re hungry,” Gladio said.

“Yeah,” Prompto said, taking it over to the oven and fiddling with the temperature before uncovering it and putting it in. “Didn’t see you work out this morning. Maybe you’ll work up an appetite if you do.”

“Not feeling it,” Gladio said. He didn’t need mothering from Prompto.

“You sure? Maybe once you get going—”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Gladio said. “Not feeling it right now.”

“Kinda wish Noct was here to hear that,” Prompto said, his voice wavering a little as he closed the oven door, aiming for light but falling short of its mark. “He’d be so mad.”

“Any other helpful shit you wanna say while you’re at it?”

“Man, can you just—” Prompto said, cutting his own words short. “They’re important to me too. Don’t be like that, please.”

“Like what?” Gladio said, hackles raised, but Prompto didn’t answer. He simply dumped his coffee, long since gone cold, in the sink and moved to the entryway. 

“Going out for a run. Won’t be long,” Prompto said. “Don’t let that shit burn.”

Gladio grunted in response, but once Prompto was gone the space felt far too cavernous to bear alone. Gladio decided to take his advice and do a few reps if only to get his mind onto anything but that feeling of emptiness closing in around him. When Prompto returned neither of them said anything of substance, but Gladio set aside the hostility that had been building within him as they sat down to eat, letting meaningless commentary fill the silence.

Later in the evening, after the last few visitors had come and gone and left the occupants of the apartment to quiet contemplation, Gladio’s phone started to ring incessantly.

“Who is it?” Prompto asked, looking up from where he was playing with his camera’s settings on the couch.

“Cindy,” Gladio said, staring at it for a moment before picking up the call. 

Her lilting voice came across the line which crackled and faded at times but seemed to be holding. “Paw-paw told me the news,” she said, her tone noticeably less bright than it had been yesterday when they’d parted ways. “Sorry thing to hear.” 

“Yeah,” Gladio said.

“You boys have been through a lot, haven’t ya? Ain’t really a fair world, I think we can say that.”

Gladio grunted in response. They had been through too damn much. This though, this wasn’t just unfair. It was a cruelty meant to take the best in this world from them without redress. It was the cold manifestation of his greatest fear, of losing those he swore to protect while they were far from his reach.

“Well, way I see it,” Cindy’s voice drawled across the line, “there ain’t a dang thing you can do to change what’s gone been done. Just gotta keep truckin’, right?”

“You’re not wrong,” Gladio said, not sure of what else he could say. Cindy could hear it in his voice, judging by her response.

“Sorry,” she said, “maybe that talk’s not very helpful. Just remember you got friends, here. Okay?”

“Thanks, Cindy,” Gladio said.

“Hey, it ain’t anything,” she said, sounding more like herself. “Is Prompto there right now? Put ‘im on for a bit.”

Gladio said goodbye and handed the phone over to Prompto who looked surprised, but immediately took the call, hanging onto every word. Gladio could see his eyes welling up but decided he didn’t want to be party to this and went over to fiddle with the oven. It was coming on dinnertime anyway and there was a hunger that felt like it was eating him out from the inside.

“She’s really something else, isn’t she?” Prompto said, a flush dusting his cheeks as he shook his head, handing back the phone. Gladio rolled his eyes and said nothing.

A knock interrupted Prompto before he could further wax lyrical on the subject of his “Goddess,” and Gladio watched as he scurried over to greet whoever was at the door.

“Iris!” Prompto announced, “Glad you’re back safe.” Gladio turned to see his sister shuffling her boots off in the entryway.

“Things were quiet so I thought I’d swing by,” Iris said, setting the grocery bag and the case of beer she brought with her on the floor before coming in. “You better not have food on the go!” she said as she noticed where Gladio was . “That’s what I came here for.” 

Gladio shook his head. “Haven’t really started,” he said, looking her over carefully. “You okay?” he asked. “No trouble out there?”

“It was fine, it was fine,” she said dismissively, grabbing the grocery bag and swinging it up onto the counter.

“Looks like you got the goods too,” Prompto said, opening the case of Crystal Coeurl to move some into the fridge.

“You betcha,” she said, getting to work almost immediately, ordering Gladio and Prompto around as she needed help. “So, how was your day?” 

Gladio let Prompto do all the talking on that one, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs staying out of it unless needed. Nothing about it felt normal like it should, not even as he would have longed for such a scene even a day past, spending time with his sister and his friends. It was something at least to have the two of them there, playing house in an apartment that was losing its sense of home with each hour that weighed on Gladio’s heart. 

After the meal, hearty and warm and better than either Prompto or Gladio could manage, they cracked open a few beers around the coffee table and took out the playing cards to have a few rounds. Gladio thumbed the ridges and planes of the cards as they played, deliberately feeling out all the little bumps he couldn’t understand, a language he’d never bothered to learn, content always to whisper in Ignis’ ear the language that was their own, one of burdens shared between them, of fealty, of love. Now the words beneath his fingers were only a reminder of the gap of understanding, asking Gladio whether he had really understood, ever done, ever said enough, in any language they knew.

“Last card!” Iris called out, interrupting his reverie. She and Prompto were looking at him expectantly as he held his deck close.

“Right,” Gladio said, picking another from the stack, not sure whether he needed to, even, attempting to rejoin the game.

As they finished up another round a few beers later, sitting around staring at the cards scattered across the coffee table, Prompto suddenly spoke, looking over at Gladio and then away at turns, an old nervous habit. “I’ve been thinking…you’ve got that picture in the entryway, and the one on the back wall, but not much else decorating this place. I mean, I know, obviously,” he stumbled through his words, “but maybe, maybe we could put some more photos up? I’ve been looking through what I have and there’re so many great ones of—”

“No,” Gladio said, cutting him off, his hands clenched into fists on top of knees. Gladio didn’t need to see more of him. He was all Gladio could see, already. “Not interested.”

“Oh,” Prompto said, his spirits dropping. “Okay.”

“Gladdy!” Iris said, looking at him with a troubled expression, but she didn’t press the matter, and when she left for the night the two of them fell back to routine.

 

The next few days passed not very differently and were the more stifling for it, and yet it was hard to leave the apartment much, never mind Lestallum. Neither of them took on hunts, avoiding headquarters entirely, but Prompto dragged him out one day to sit by the power plant while he took photos. The darkness meant the old lookout no longer had much to look out at, but here the meteor crystals still glowed beautifully in the crater and Prompto snapped photos as ever, deleting most of them as he went. They left before the shifts changed over, not wanting to be caught in the crowds pouring out from the plant—Gladio, at least, had no desire for it. He wondered, from the look on Prompto’s face, whether he wanted to be caught up in the bustle, but he didn’t ask. If Prompto wanted to go out and socialize, that was his prerogative. In the end, he mostly stayed in with Gladio, no matter how claustrophobic it was.

 

“So what’s the system here?” Prompto said, examining the labels on the plastic containers in the freezer. Holly’s thoughtful gesture lasted them for a couple meals, but once the casserole was gone, they had to break into the freezer stock.

“No clue,” Gladio answered, standing next to him. “I always just take whatever.”

“It’s all good I guess,” Prompto said, pulling out a container and opening it. “Mmm, peppery daggerquill, it smells like.”

“It’ll need to thaw,” Gladio said, reaching in and grabbing a different container full of the seafood paella Ignis loved to make, by the looks of it.

“We can just leave it on the counter for like an hour right?” Prompto asked.

He could hear the lecture in his head, but had to put it aside for the sake of his sanity. “Yeah,” he said, depositing the container next to the sink, counting on Lestallum’s heat to do its worst.

“Wanna try that board game Iris brought the last time I stayed over?” Prompto asked, going over to the bookshelf and drawing it out from where it had been wedged next to it and the armchair. “Never got a chance to play it. You can play with two right?” He looked over the box as he spoke.

Gladio acquiesced and they passed the time until the food thawed enough it could be reheated. When they finally moved it onto their plates and sat down at the table, there was a strange sense of ceremony. Gladio’s was slightly singed in places from where he let it sit too long in the frying pan. Prompto had to keep poking at his in the oven to see if it was approaching the right temperature. Neither of them really had much kitchen sense beyond what they needed to get by, but this was simple enough, all the real work done for them by a far better chef.

The food was unceremoniously dumped on the plates, no fancy arrangements or garnishes, but the scents of the meals, teasing at their taste, were all that was needed. It was Gladio this time who broke the silence. “Guess we should dig in.”

“Gotta enjoy it while it’s still warm,” Prompto said with a bittersweet smile, picking up his utensils.

Singed or not, the paella was delicious and across table Prompto was scarfing down the daggerquill breast and rice. 

“It’s so good,” Prompto said around a mouthful. 

Gladio nodded, scooping up the aromatic rice and trying to get a prawn onto his spoon.

“It kind of feels…” Prompto began, but he trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. Gladio didn’t press. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. 

Whatever spell was on them, it broke once they finished the meal, their plates cleared right off, and things were every bit as shit as they were before.

 

A week passed, full of visits, calls, and long silences cooped up in the apartment, before they decided to see if there were hunts available in the area. It went unspoken, but Gladio had no intent to leave Lestallum for the moment, and Prompto seemed to want to stick around too, even if it meant sleeping on the floor and dealing with Gladio’s moods. Stepping back into the command station after what had passed the last time they arrived was difficult, the more for the nods of acknowledgement they received now and again from acquaintances who knew something about what had happened.

“They’re Ignis’ friends,” he overheard a hunter he’d worked with once quietly telling another he didn’t recognize after a comment about the “strange atmosphere” following them. It took all of Gladio’s concentration to put it aside and not think of it, to not suffocate under the pressure of strangers knowing of their grief without knowing them. He spent so long avoiding hunting anywhere near Ignis, Gladio never really knew how familiar Ignis had become with some of the Lestallum crowd. What did they know of Ignis, or his life, he wondered, and how long would they remember? How much was it possible to keep caring when everything around them was darkness and death?

Talcott greeted them as they came up to where he was operating the tracking device. It was easier to talk to him than a handful of loose acquaintances who were unsure whether to approach.

“Iris and the Marshal are out organizing shipments coming up from Old Lestallum,” he told them. “Routine stuff of course.” 

Gladio could see in Talcott’s eyes how he wished to be out there, what authority he’d taken for himself as a dispenser of daemon facts and mission details unsatisfying compared to the thrill and heroism of fighting for humanity’s survival. The kid had no fucking clue, Gladio thought, what it was really like.

“But there’s no shortage of things needing done around here,” Talcott continued. “Miss Amelia is recruiting hunters to go out to the crossroad by the old stable. We’ve tracked an alpha-class arachne out there that’s siphoning energy off the power lines.”

“Terrifying spider women. Sounds like our thing,” Prompto said.

“You joining up with us?” Amelia said, coming up behind them upon overhearing their exchange. “I’ve got two others on board already. With your help I think we’d have enough.”

Prompto exchanged looks with Gladio before saying, “Tell us when and where.”

“Let’s say noon,” Amelia said. “We’ll draft an attack plan and then ship out, aim to get back in one piece tonight if we can.”

“Noon it is,” Gladio said.

 

They departed shortly after the twelve o’clock horn blasted from the factory, the five of them driving the short way up to the junction. The lights along the route had been bolstered over the years as the Pallareth Pass became a key route for movement of goods and personnel between Meldacio and Lestallum. 

“There’s our target,” Amelia muttered as she gradually pulled the truck off onto the shoulder a distance away from the glowing light ahead. It was difficult in the dark, but as Gladio exited the truck he could make out the silhouette of the arachne in the electric glow.

“I think we have an extra shock insulator if anyone needs it,” Prompto said, summoning a crest from the armiger, which one of the other hunters gladly accepted. Gladio pulled on his gloves, not fond of how they affected his grip. Nonetheless, there was almost no way to come through a fight with one of these things without electrical exposure, and he wasn’t foolish enough to go into battle without a little help.

“Alright, we stick to the plan,” Amelia said as they checked over their gear and turned on their flashlights. “Prompto, you ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” Prompto said. The group gradually came closer until they were in firing range before they turned off their flashlights and fanned out, leaving Prompto to fire the first shots and draw it away from the power lines.

Gladio watched as best he could with Prompto’s flashlight the only illumination, shedding light on his form as he raised his pistol and fired a bullet at the arachne gorging itself on the electric current of the fallen line. It reacted immediately, turning from its meal to face its attacker. Prompto fired another few bullets at it, at least one hitting true and provoking an enraged scream as it scuttled swiftly towards him, closing the distance with disturbing speed. Gladio held still for the moment, watching Prompto fire again as it approached until Amelia gave the shout and they all switched on their lights and drew their weapons.

It screamed as it was blinded by the sudden light on all sides, but that did not halt its wild attacks, pincers snapping viciously, if blindly, at the enemies around it. Gladio jumped into the fray, levelling a massive blow against its tough shell, barely slowing it down. The underbelly was softer but much harder to target without a clear opening. Prompto had switched to his circular saw at close range, aiming for the weak joints in its legs.

“Get clear,” he heard one of the other hunters shout as he saw the telltale signs of it pulling back for a sweeping electrical attack. He backed up quickly as it swept backwards in an arc, exiting the circle they’d trapped it in. They dodged the first round thanks to the warning, but Gladio ended up on the receiving end of a second sweep forward and stumbled with a grunt, trying to quash the burning pain of the charge throughout his limbs and refocus as the others renewed their attacks.

“Spawn incoming,” Prompto said as it formed an orb of electricity between its pincers and shed it in points of light surrounding them.

“Keep on her,” Amelia said, bringing her short sword up as she stood before the line of materializing arachne spawn, “I’ll hold these things back as long as I can.”

“Let’s do this,” Prompto shouted over the noise of his whirring saw. Gladio dashed forward as it reared up on its hind legs, delivering a strike to its underbelly, trace amounts of bile dripping from the shallow cut. Behind it their other companions stuck at it with spears, agitating it further. It spun around to face them as Prompto went in from the back, cleanly sawing off part of a hind leg. “Yeah!” he shouted as it stumbled.

His enthusiasm got ahead of him however, as the arachne flipped back around using its remaining legs and reared up above him. The awkwardness of the circular saw meant he couldn’t move away in time and he was knocked onto his back as he tried to dodge a pincer aimed at his neck. Gladio felt his heart drop as he saw Prompto lying there weaponless, having relinquished the saw for his own protection as he fell, and tried to get over to get between them. Prompto summoned his gun where he lay prone and brought it up to shoot the arachne in its face, but it wasn’t enough. Gladio couldn’t move fast enough to get there as it suddenly stabbed Prompto with its frontal stinger, frighteningly close to his heart. Prompto slumped, gun disappearing as his hand dropped to the ground, numb from the toxin. It reared up once more, ready to deliver a killing blow and Gladio shouted wordlessly as he rushed in and heaved his blade into the soft belly, cutting a long, deep gash lengthwise. The arachne wavered and fell while the others pierced it through with spears on the ground as it twitched through its last moments, the sudden disappearance of the spawn confirming its passing before it was swept away in a black smoke. Gladio was immediately at Prompto’s side, breaking a potion above him. They’d had arachne stings before. They were nasty but easily remedied—a single potion and everything was usually right as rain. Knowing this, even seeing colour and movement come back to Prompto’s face, didn’t slow the palpitations of Gladio’s heart. Gladio couldn’t stop panting, finding it increasingly hard to breathe, unable to get enough air into his lungs.

“You okay?” Amelia said, hurrying to Prompto’s side as he slowly began to sit up.

“I’m fine,” Prompto said, shaking his head clear of the lingering wooziness that came with arachne stings. “Really chilly. And I see these weird spots of light, but it’s fine, honestly it’s happened before.” He grinned as he moved to get to his feet. “Hell of a fight though. Haven’t done anything that exciting in awhile.”

“I’ll give you it was intense,” Amelia said.

“You might even say, electrifying?” Prompto said. “Did you—” he began but stopped as Amelia cut him off.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, snapping her attention to Gladio where he still knelt on the ground. “D’you get hit?”

Prompto was back on his knees in a second, taking in the state Gladio was in. “Whoa,” Prompto said, gripping his shoulders, “Gladio, big guy, calm down.” Gladio could feel the pressure of Prompto’s grip through his sleeves and tried to focus on that contact. Prompto was fine. Everyone was fine. This was normal. This was what hunting daemons was. Everyone had put themselves at risk, but everyone had come through. There were no serious repercussions. Prompto was alive. “Breathe. It’s okay,” Prompto kept saying.

Gladio tried to swallow despite the difficulty of it and nodded his head, struggling to calm down and let the air back into his lungs. It took him a minute before he could properly find his voice, but his words were only that they needed to get a move on, that the job was done, and they had to get back. No more questions were asked, the others willing to let it lie for the moment in order to retreat swiftly lest anything else beset them on the way.

When they pulled into Lestallum, Amelia summarily dismissed the two of them despite Prompto’s protests. “Rest up,” she said, “We can report in for you, see about getting a crew out there to repair the line, all that. Unless you need further medical attention…”

“No,” Gladio answered for them both, not knowing whether to feel humiliation or gratitude in the wake of her dismissal. The crew departed and Gladio and Prompto headed back to the apartment. As they walked Prompto kept eyeing him until at last he spoke.

“So, you alright?” Prompto asked, his tone falsely light.

“I’m not the one who ended up spider bait,” Gladio said.

“Sorry,” he said, a guilty look passing over his face. “I know right now…it’s—”

“The fuck are you apologizing for?”

“Nothing,” Prompto said, shaking his head. Gladio didn’t want to talk about it, and it wasn’t like Prompto didn’t already know what Gladio was so afraid of it left him choking on air when everything was ostensibly fine. No point in talking about weak shit like that, as far as Gladio was concerned. That was enough of that.

 

Following their first failed venture, they avoided hunts a little longer. Gladio couldn’t shake how spooked he felt by the close call. Prompto was itchy to get out still and spent more time hanging around headquarters, or out in the town, but didn’t head out on any hunts yet. A dull tension had set in, the feeling not the same anxiety from the pitch of battle, but like an inevitable knowledge things were going to go wrong.

The food in the freezer ran out after two weeks, the ritual that had come to be associated with it at its end. They sat down with the last of the rice sauté together. The consistency of the cream sauce didn’t look quite as it once had, but the scent of daggerquill breast and pungent funguar filled the kitchen as though it were fresh-made. They ate slowly, the atmosphere strained and awkward as attempts at conversation faltered and the tension of the past week, founded in something ugly and spiteful, sat between them. Prompto had been trying to lighten the mood, but Gladio wanted none of it, none of his flippancy in the face of how irrevocably fucked up everything was, and so little was said at all.

Prompto was not one to be turned from talking, however, and as he glumly moved his fork through the rice on his plate, breaking it up and mixing it with the sauce where it pooled in little pockets, he mumbled, “This is it, huh?” 

“That all you’re gonna miss?” Gladio asked resentfully, letting the dormant desire to lash out come to the fore with the slightest of provocations.

“You know it isn’t!” Prompto said. “Why do you have to…” he trailed off, huffing angrily.

“Have to what?” Gladio said, letting his temper envelop him. He stared Prompto down, but after a minute of resistance Prompto shook his head and just ignored him, turning his body away as he kept eating in silence.

Gladio rested his head in his hands, elbows on the table. He was being unfair and he knew it. He wanted a fight because it would mean he wouldn’t have to deal with this persistent feeling of loss, of guilt, of misery and ineffectualness. It was all he knew how to do, fight.

‘That’s not an excuse.’ The words danced through his head in a voice that tormented him each passing day. ‘You’re a smart man. Tell me what exactly these childish outbursts solve and how often they actually work on Noct, and by all means, if you have an answer, continue with them.’ Predictably it had only led them deeper into argument at the time, but once Gladio had cooled down he could reluctantly admit the truth to it, even if he could never seem to stem the instinct for combat. Ignis always knew how to take his rage, turn it around, question it, stifle it, help him let go of it, whatever the situation called for. Gladio couldn’t quell it half so well on his own, but the words rang bitterly through his head. ‘That’s not an excuse.’

“I’m sorry,” Gladio said, at last, rubbing his face before picking up his fork again and shovelling it back into the rice. 

Prompto looked up at him surprised. He smiled, the expression holding only half the brightness and optimism it once did, shaking his head in acknowledgement. “No biggie,” Prompto said. “I get it.”

 

They took to the field again after that, no more especially close calls visited on them, though what they were spared perhaps fell to other, less fortunate hunters. In the swing of the blade Gladio found no solace, but it was familiar, what he had been trained to do since childhood, to fight his way through the threats before him. It was good work, it was work that was worth doing, and yet the more he lost the more Gladio feared it to be a meaningless attempt to stave off the darkness that swallowed up people without rhyme or reason in its cruelty. 

Things struck more of a balance, however, the pair of them hunting together, sometimes with other friends or hunters, sometimes just the two of them. When they retired for the day, Gladio stuck mostly to the apartment while Prompto alternated between keeping him company and seeking out others, teaching Talcott photography tricks or gleaning what he could of Cid’s mechanical mastery, or chatting up locals in the bars. The weeks seemed to stretch out endlessly and yet pass faster than Gladio could keep track of, and it was with surprise he took in Iris’ remark one evening about his birthday.

“Are you feeling up to celebrating?” she asked. “Maybe we could get some people together. Food. Cake. If you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Prompto said, bringing them over drinks from the fridge. “I’m sure we could do something.”

Gladio didn’t know what to say immediately. Anything like a fuss was lacking appeal, and he honestly didn’t feel like he should be celebrating anything. So he was going to be another year older. There wasn’t even a sun to mark the passing of time. No king to mark the years of service, and Ignis… he’d surpass Ignis in their yearly game of tag, one of their stupid jokes that somehow never wore thin, but for him the years would only accumulate while Ignis remained a memory of a young man, cut down in his prime. What was there to celebrate in that? He yielded to Iris and Prompto’s persuasion however, and plans were made.

When the day came, it started little different than any other. Prompto mumbled a “Happy Birthday!” in passing as he dragged himself off for a quick shower, but picked up in enthusiasm once his head was clearer. They took it easy for breakfast but still swung by the command station to see what was up, and ended up on a routine sweep of the Lestallum perimeter, not wanting to go far afield.

That night, they had a handful of people over for dinner and drinks. It was informal, but Iris made good on her promise of cake and food. Gladio hadn’t spoken much to the others beyond the occasional check-in so it was good to catch up. Talcott was eager to talk about a tour of the artificial greenhouses he’d taken recently on Holly’s invitation. She thought he might like to see how the plant was powering them with his recently acquired habit of tinkering with machines as Cid’s informal and largely unsupervised apprentice. Monica had gone away for a bit to assist a resource extraction mission at the Vesperpool but was back in town and eager have news. Cor and Cid showed up and spent the vast majority of their few words exchanging insults in between reminiscences. They ate, drank, and talked for a few hours, and while Gladio had shut down the idea of candles, there was nonetheless something of a toast at Prompto’s behest. 

“To Gladio,” he said, raising a glass of the shochu that Cor had brought, waiting for everyone else to follow. “Another year older, and unbelievably another year taller,” he added, which earned cheers from those not shaking their heads. Gladio rolled his eyes but took the toast with humour, and nodded his head in acknowledgement to everyone who’d come out. 

Prompto continued, “to the amazing Iris, who did 99.25% of the work.” This Gladio raised his can of beer for, toasting his sister’s efforts as she smiled and waved her hand as though it were nothing. Prompto wasn’t nearly finished however. “Yours truly being the other .75,” he said, his voice louder than he thought it was, no doubt, a few too many in now. “And,” he said at last, after a pause, “to everyone here…and to those who couldn’t be.” 

Gladio knew it had been coming from the change in his tone. He tried to fight off how sick it made him feel as a slightly more sombre “cheers” was raised in response. Prompto, perhaps realizing how much he’d sabotaged the mood, tried to pick things up again, and finished with his toast. “Now let’s have cake!”—advice which was earnestly undertaken by the other attendees. 

A while after the cake had been passed around and everyone fell back into easy conversation, Gladio, theoretically the centre of the event, found himself on the narrow balcony looking out at the fluorescent street lamps of Lestallum, exhausted. The garish glow kept the daemons at bay the best they could, a town of lights so bright it was sometimes harder to see through the glare nestled in the dark green night, the sunlight eaten away by mysterious parasitic organisms. Gladio hated it—hated the darkness, the emptiness, and the absence he felt every day. He couldn’t put words to how galling it was, and felt his frustrations mounting as he stared out at the darkness that wanted nothing, but took away everything from them, bit by bit.

It wasn’t long before Prompto joined him there, flushed and tipsy from drinking too much too fast, Gladio guessed.

“You okay, big guy?” Prompto asked, resting his arms gingerly on the iron railing, not confident it would stand up to the combined pressure of their weight against it.

“Just tired,” Gladio said, trying to not make a scene, especially with Prompto too far gone to monitor his volume. 

“C’mon, it’s your birthday, you should be in there, celebrating,” he said. “I gave a speech and everything.”

And wasn’t it peachy, he thought. “I’m good here for now,” Gladio said, scuffing his foot on the ground.

“But everyone’s here to see you, and you hardly ever get out,” Prompto said, slapping him playfully on the arm, which did nothing for Gladio’s mood. “Whaddaya say? Let’s get back in there.”

“Maybe in a minute,” Gladio said, trying to take slow breaths. “Just feeling really tired lately.”

“Careful there, or before you know it you’ll turn out like…” Prompto halted mid-sentence as his mind, or perhaps heart, caught up with his tongue.

Just say it, Gladio thought.

As though picking up on his remonstrance, Prompto finished, face crumpling as he spoke. “Like Noct.” Gladio didn’t react visibly to that, holding himself together as best he could as Prompto spoke up again.

“They should be here. I want them to be here,” Prompto said, failing to stop his eyes from watering despite his scrunched up face.

“And what the fuck do you think I want?” Gladio growled suddenly. He let the frustration overtake him, rapidly losing his filter, registering the sudden silence on the other side of the doors but not paying it any mind. “What the fuck do you think sobbing about it on the fucking balcony’s gonna solve?” 

“Well what the fuck is sitting around the damn apartment all day never even talking about it gonna fucking solve?” Prompto asked, his tears not lessened by his anger. “Feels like you’ve fucking gone and died too.”

Gladio grabbed onto his collar, instinctively using his height to loom over him. Before things went any further Cor was there, yanking on his arm, drawing them both closer towards the main room. “Break it up. You’re gonna fall and brain yourselves on the goddamn pavement.”

“Get your hands offa me!” Gladio said, wrenching his arm from Cor.

Prompto took his chance and walked away, heading straight for the door. Everyone inside was watching warily or pointedly looking away, the tension thick enough to cut.

Iris looked between Gladio and Prompto’s retreating back as he disappeared through the door. After a moment of indecision, she moved to grab her boots. “I’ll catch up with him,” was all she said on the subject. 

Gladio stayed where he was on the balcony, glaring at the room inside even as guilt crept up on him over the scene. Cor looked like he might say something, his brow thickly creased with lines, but he ended up turning back inside and suggesting to the others they take their leave. Gladio, for his part, turned back to look outward as he heard the sound of things being moved around, people getting ready to depart, but he also heard the slow shuffle of footsteps toward where he stood, and was therefore not surprised when Cid appeared next to him.

“If ya get it into your head to throw me off this ‘ere balcony, yer gonna wish ya had a tonberry coming for ya.”

Gladio rolled his eyes as he watched Cid lean back stiffly against the door jamb.

“Ain’t nothing hurts worse than not being there,” Cid said without waiting for Gladio’s acknowledgement. “Ain’t a person this side of Niflheim gonna tell ya any different.” 

Gladio let him talk. He could give all empty comfort he wished to, it wouldn’t change anything. Cid didn’t stop. 

“But fighting with those you got left is asking for more. You boys gotta pull your heads outta your asses and figure out how to be there for each other, or y’ ain’t never gonna move on.”

Gladio’s anger took a different turn then, more like to low-burning embers than the frustration waiting to boil over. Move on, like it was easy, or wanted. Like he wouldn’t still be haunted by memory every day, thinking of the missing presences that weren’t ever gonna be filled. Ignis, Noctis, his father, a list of regrets, unsaid things, moments longed for never to be had.

“Now if you ain’t got anything to say to that, I can’t think I got much more to tell ya tonight. Too old to watch young’uns like you lose sight of yourselves.”

“Wasn’t asking you to,” Gladio said.

“Sorriest party I’ve been to in a long time,” Cid said with a sour laugh, taking his leave.

Gladio went back inside to an empty apartment, the remains of the cake wrapped up on the counter, an assortment of empties lined up beside it. He looked it all over for a moment before he sat down on the couch, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. He had no idea how long he sat there, letting thoughts swirl around his head aimlessly before he got a call from Iris.

“Prompto’s staying here tonight. He’s pretty wasted,” she said. “I talked to him though. He’s sorry about earlier.”

“Hmm,” Gladio said, not committing to anything.

“How’re you doing? I know you were upset but seeing you guys fight—”

“Iris, I really don’t wanna talk about it.” 

“I—are you sure? I could slip out for a bit.”

“Get some rest,” Gladio said, “don’t worry ‘bout me.”

“I’m sorry your birthday party was such a flop. I didn’t even get to give you your present.”

“What colour was the moogle doll this year?”

“Shut up. I haven’t given you moogles in forever.”

“You got on a kick for so many years,” he said, mustering something of a fond smile.

“Yeah, well I don’t have much time to sew these days. But if you look next to the couch you might find what I did get you.”

“You know you don’t really need to get me presents anymore,” Gladio said, looking over the edge of the sofa and picking up a small, flat box.

“Yeah, and when are you gonna stop giving me birthday presents?”

“Never. Big brother privileges,” he said as he moved the ties off the box and opened it up to reveal a leather-bound journal. “You got me a notebook?”

“Thought you might feel like writing things down,” Iris said, “you know, when you’re all busy not talking to me about them?”

“Happy birthday and a guilt trip.”

“Oh stop. I’m just saying you might get something out of it.”

“‘Preciate the thought,” Gladio breathed out, somewhere between annoyed and thankful that Iris still thought about him at all when she could be focused on her work and not her useless older brother. They talked for a brief while longer before hanging up and Gladio had only his thoughts again.

 

When he laid down to sleep that night, it wasn’t long before Gladio found himself in Zegnautus. The architecture was only half what he remembered, dark corridors and a tall central elevator, that was right, but his subconscious threw in bits of the Crestholm Channels and the power plant to round it out. But even as he passed through hallway after hallway, desperately needing to find the car part for the Regalia, Gladio knew somehow that this was Gralea, that the Niffs had taken something from their engine and they needed it back. He fought his way through chamber upon chamber of rogue axemen and saberclaws and snake ladies until he arrived at a white hallway that led to the place where the crystal was kept. Mission forgotten, he ran down the walkway toward the glowing artefact, only to find Ignis there encased the crystal, his sleeping face tinted blue from the glassy reflection. He pounded at the pebbled surface, clawed at it until his fingers were raw and red, trying to get him out to no avail.

“Ah, your sleeping beauty,” he could hear Ardyn’s voice dripping over the intercom, a sound last heard years ago but no less detestable now, “trapped in his glass coffin. But who put him there, I wonder?”

Gladio ignored the taunts, the laughter, desperately trying to make a dent in the crystal, but he didn’t have anything, his weapons wouldn’t come at his call, there was nothing in the room he could use, even as it changed size and shape around him. His struggle was only interrupted by a familiar voice coming from behind him, a figure limping slowly through the unsealed doors.

“Too late,” Noctis said, his form mangled like Ravus’, oozing black liquid, blue eyes turned empty and daemonic, “you weren’t there.” Gladio looked on helplessly as Noct fell slowly to the ground, “‘Cause of you,” Noct said as the daemonification process consumed him, his life slipping away in black streams swept away in the sudden draft, “you weren’t there. Why weren’t you? The shield…you weren’t the shield. You couldn’t…” Noctis muttered as his form slipped away, “…us.” 

Gladio tried to reach out, tried to do anything but he couldn’t move, every limb frozen in inaction. When he woke from the dream, the real horror was that the feeling was no different as he lay there alone in the dark. “Goddamnit,” he uttered as he became aware of reality. He could still hear Noct’s accusations echoing in his ears. He lay there, suffocating in the emptiness of his bedroom, unmoving until he heard the apartment door open. He dragged himself up then, turning on the bedside lamp and throwing on some pants before going out to the kitchen. As expected, Prompto was there nursing a glass of water but looking better than he expected. 

“Hey,” Prompto said, his throat slightly hoarse.

“Hey,” Gladio said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and finding something to drink.

“Sorry for ruining your birthday,” Prompto said after a moment, letting his head fall down on the table.

“Wasn’t important anyway,” Gladio said. He didn’t apologize himself. Nonetheless, the conversation came as a relief if only to get the nightmare out of his head.

“Iris made me breakfast but I think I want to sleep again maybe,” Prompto said.

“You do that,” Gladio said. “I think I’m gonna swing by HQ, see if there’s any hunts nearby.”

“You want me to come?” Prompto asked mournfully as he picked his head up from the table.

“Nah, lie down. Just need to swing a sword at something for a bit.”

“If it’s about last night—”

“It’s not.” Not really, Gladio knew.

“Right, well,” Prompto said, taking a giant gulp of water and looking like he regretted it moments later. He continued after it seemed there was no chance of it coming back up. “Have fun.”

“You too,” Gladio said as Prompto moved to the bedroom. Prompto could sleep for as long as he needed but the last thing Gladio wanted to do right now was shut his eyes.

 

Gladio didn’t have words to describe the following weeks except that they continued, continued, and continued on. Iris’ notebook sat mostly unused, the few attempts to put anything down abandoned, as though a haze settled upon him any time he tried to fill it up. He and Prompto still did most of their hunting together, but they spent much less time together than they had the first month or so. Prompto was often out mingling with the Lestallum folks while Gladio kept mostly to the apartment, sparing visits only to very close friends, and those mostly on their insistence. That night however, Prompto had a different idea.

“C’mon, let’s go out tonight,” he cajoled as Gladio cleaned up the dishes. “You’ve been cooped up here too long. I’m not saying I’m not thrilling company, but let’s go.” 

Gladio watched him from the corner of his eye, humming non-committally.

“Y’know. Talk to other people. Drink overpriced shit at a bar. For me?”

It wasn’t like Prompto was wrong. Yeah, the past few months had been total shit, and the world mostly didn’t seem worth the effort, but Gladio also knew his misery was increasingly self-indulgent. The effort it took to rejoin the world felt monumental, to pretend like he hadn’t lost his king, like he hadn’t lost his partner, like he wasn’t a shield with nothing to protect. Still, Prompto was asking for something pretty small, to do something Gladio normally loved to do, and maybe it was time to do something for him as much as for himself, after three months of having to sleep on Gladio’s floor. 

They ended up at the Titan’s Hammer, a smallish bar in their neighbourhood but not without its clientele. They sat in one of the booths and Prompto talked through most of the first pitcher, Gladio leaving him to it. It was smoky, dimmer inside than out, with music blasting over the speaker system above their heads, and Gladio might have liked all those things once, but tonight he was less sure of the feeling. He kept his self-pitying thoughts to himself for the moment and listened to Prompto chatter on, clearly happy to be out doing something social together. Once Prompto went up for a round of harder stuff, however, Gladio stared vaguely at nothing, peeling at the top layer of the damp cardboard coaster in front of him bit by bit. 

“Heyyy,” Prompto said, catching Gladio’s attention as he came back at last, accompanied by a man and a woman. “This is my buddy Gladio here,” Prompto said to his new acquaintances as he slid a drink in front of Gladio and sat down next to him, the others shuffling into the seat opposite. 

“Nice to meetcha,” the woman said, plunking down her bottle of Wennath Pale next to a half-emptied glass. “Name’s Annia.”

The man sitting across from him introduced himself as Veritus with a nod of his head and bright smile.

“Prompto’s already done my introduction, looks like,” Gladio said, mustering up a smile for the two of them. 

“He was talking you up quite a lot while we were up there,” Veritus said with a nod to the bar. “He wasn’t kidding. How much do you bench?”

“You workout much yourself?” Gladio asked.

“Well, I try,” Veritus said.

“So you’re a hunter too, I take it,” Annia said.

“My partner in crime,” Prompto answered eagerly. Gladio had an inkling of what this was about as he read Prompto’s desperate-to-please body language, but he made nice for the time being, making small talk with the duo, answering Annia’s curiosity about the tattoo while evading any mention of its significance, and responding to Veritus’ further probes about his training regimen. Prompto tried his hardest to impress while across the table Annia needled Veritus about whether she should get ink done and earned playful teasing in return, the kind that, from Gladio’s read of them, came with intimate familiarity. The couple talked about their freelance work leading them out of Insomnia not long before the fall, and about the Lestallum nightlife in comparison to what Crown City had in its heyday—a nightlife Prompto had very little experience of compared to the rest of them—and the four of them reminisced about the old brands and entertainment they used to have, all carefully dodging the subject of everything they truly lost. They talked about the business going on at the power plant and the new buildings going up on Obispo Street. While Prompto was showing Annia some pictures he had of the meteor crystals, Veritus rolled his eyes conspiratorially at Gladio and announced that the two of them needed to turn to more serious pursuits, a debate over whether Black Claw or Annex was the better maker of training equipment. 

Gladio used to do this, to flirt lightly with anything and anyone by nature, but now he felt like lead, like it was too much effort to even be himself anymore, and he wasn’t really prepared for when a foot brushed against his and didn’t move. He looked at Veritus’ flirtatious, friendly smile, and had to get out.

He tried to not seem too abrupt, but it was obvious to everyone at the table he wanted to leave and fast, so ignoring Prompto’s protestations and wishing Annia and Veritus well, he settled up and left as quickly as he could. He returned to his apartment alone, buzzed and with an unpleasant feeling roiling in his gut. He shouldn’t be like this, some part of him thought, but he didn’t want this and part of him blamed Prompto for taking him out tonight, for trying to draw him into his stupid wingman act. Frankly his interest in just about everything had plummeted over the past few months and he didn’t need scenes like that to confirm it. He laid down that night and felt lonely and bitter, but sleep eventually came.

Prompto didn’t reappear until late the next morning, while Gladio was in the middle of not screwing up scrambled eggs, and when asked if he wanted any, said he already ate with a sheepish grin. “Annia and Veritus, they’re really nice,” he said, putting on coffee.

“Attaboy,” Gladio said because it was what he would have said once, indifferently poking at the eggs, “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You got home alright, I guess,” Prompto said, staring at the coffee machine.

“Obviously,” Gladio said, waiting for the eggs to fluff up. After a moment’s silence he asked, “So is it gonna be a thing, or…?”

“I dunno,” Prompto said a familiar self-deprecating look passing over his face as his words meandered. “I mean, I don’t wanna get in their way too much, y’know? They’re probably not looking for that,” he said, fiddling with the coffee pot handle. “Besides, third wheel’s…not my favourite thing, even if I’m used to it.”

“So that’s a what, a maybe?” Gladio said.

“You know what, let’s not talk about this,” Prompto said with a forced cheerfulness. “That seems like a great idea right now.”

“That’s a first,” Gladio said, happy to drop the subject altogether.

 

Prompto’s shiftlessness didn’t abate over the next few weeks, but Gladio didn’t bother going out with him again. Still, the mood had gotten strange, as if Prompto had completely given up trying to get Gladio to do anything after months of quiet, and occasionally explosive, encouragement. It therefore managed to come as a surprise and yet hold the ring of being an inevitability when a few weeks later Prompto came back from a night out somewhere Gladio didn’t ask, and made an apprehensive announcement over breakfast.

“Hey, so,” he began, pushing the last of the food around his plate. “I think I’m going to Hammerhead, for a bit. Cindy…Cindy really needs help out there,” Prompto said, his expression troubled.

If Gladio had a guess as to why, it was that Prompto knew he was abandoning Gladio, but Gladio couldn’t really feel much of anything about it. Prompto had stayed long enough, and clearly wasn’t happy here however he tried to compensate for it. Of course he’d want to head back there eventually.

“If you…” Prompto said, looking up to Gladio with tentative hope in his eyes.

Gladio shook his head and cut him off before he asked. “Got enough on my plate here,” he said.

Prompto nodded and bit his lip, “Yeah, okay then.” He dumped his food in the garbage, cleaning up his plate quickly. Gladio heard a sigh before he turned around. “Sorry to just run off,” Prompto said, “but I should get out there and find Lindsey. He said I could bum a ride offa him if it was before eleven.” 

Gladio nodded. He was content for that to be that, but Prompto seemed to have more to say as he stood there awkwardly, hesitating. The look on his face was deeply uncomfortable, as if whatever he was going to say next he knew would be unwelcome, and Gladio felt his hackles rise a little although he didn’t know what it could be. Prompto clenched his fists and came out with it anyway. 

“Gladio, could I, could I keep the necklace?”

The words indeed were not the least bit welcome. Instinctively Gladio wanted to deny him, to yell in anger, to possessively hold on to the one thing left behind by his partner that signalled his fate, but it was easier, in the dullness that he had felt the past few months, to not give too much in to instinct. Gladio resisted his impulses. A hard look split his face, but as the silence lingered between them, he considered. He had put the necklace away, but had no intention of looking at it again. It only rent open the wound, one that was bleeding out slowly even still. And the truth was Gladio had so many of Ignis’ things, scattered about the apartment, or squirreled away in drawers, and Prompto had nothing. He wouldn’t lose it; he wouldn’t damage it; it wouldn’t come to harm. Prompto would only keep it because he probably found it soothing. Gladio didn’t. 

Let the kid have some comfort, the tired voice in his head said, and he swallowed uncomfortably before nodding and standing up from the table. He moved slowly over to the door, entering the room he spent all his time ignoring, everything an assault of memory beneath a layer of dust. He opened the bed-side drawer and pulled it out. It hurt in a place deep in his chest to look at it again, the delicate metal beads so small against the palm of his hand. He turned to Prompto but it took incredible effort to move his hand, to give it over even to the only person who understood what it meant, what had been lost. 

Gladio held it out by the top of the broken chain. Prompto gently raised his hand to grasp the pendant. Gladio let go, the chain draping across Prompto’s fingers before he squirreled it away, putting it in the breast pocket of his vest.

 

Prompto left, and was gone. Gladio kept going as before, changed only in outlook as things seemed to get grimmer. Time didn’t heal anything, he thought as the days passed him by. It was hard enough to lose Noctis. Gladio had strayed from the side of the king he had sworn to serve as sword and shield, and his penance was to see him consumed by a crystal that was supposed to eradicate the daemons, not pave the road for their dominion. But every time that got too hard to bear, when that thought became too much, he could summon his sword, a glittering light forming hard steel in his hand, and know that Noctis was alive, that someday he would see his king again. He’d seen Ignis do it more times than he could count, summoning daggers in the kitchen at random moments, when he could have no use of them, and then putting them away, picking up a paring knife and continuing his tireless efforts at culinary perfectionism. Gladio would put down his book, or the deck of cards or the notes Ignis had him read out and walk over, wrap his arms around his waist, press his nose against hair scented of cheap gel, and hold him until he complained of it, because Gladio knew what it was he was feeling.

There was nothing he could summon to bring Ignis to him. There wasn’t even a body. There was a necklace he’d given away, a tattered boot since repurposed for some other use, and zero closure. Now when Gladio summoned his sword, just to see if it was still there, its disappearing form was not replaced with a gloved hand sliding into the grip of his fingers where it had faded, no words were uttered against his ear that drew him out, reminding him that he, too, was alive and needed among the living.

It didn’t help when he found the photo album sandwiched among the books near the coffee table. Prompto had evidently ignored Gladio’s wishes and left it as a parting gift because Gladio opened the large album to find pictures from the past five years staring back at him—the group of them standing in front of the meteor shard at the Disc, Prompto and Noct hugging chocobos at the ranch, a shot of a cactuar-shaped cake in the foreground, him and Ignis blurred in quiet conversation in the back. Ignis and Noct, standing back to back, both of them smiling. His finger traced the raised edge of the photo beneath the laminate, before he abruptly slammed the album shut, putting it aside to look at another day.

He lasted two weeks alone in the apartment before the ghosts chased him out, and he found himself packing up and heading out on a mission to Ravatogh, remote and strange now as the red of its lava formed the only natural light against the ash-green sky. It was just as well Iris was away at the moment overseeing some recon at the borders of Insomnia, because he didn’t know how he’d explain it to her, why he’d left.

The truck made the pickup with no difficulties Gladio couldn’t handle himself. Gladio spent a few days near the Rock with a team of extractors, helping maintain a perimeter for their work, but once the truckers he arrived with got their ore, they were Lestallum-bound again. It had been a smooth enough job as these things go, but as they drove towards the rivers they received an urgent radio broadcast and Gladio’s instincts took over. The message warned of the appearance of a deathclaw near the Raschia Bridge, right along the route they intended to take. Seasoned a fighter as Gladio was, daemons like that weren’t something even a small party could take on.

“When we cross the Maidenwater turn south,” Gladio ordered as the driver and his companion debated in panicky tones. “We’ll sit tight in Fort Vaullery.”

The driver, a fellow from Old Lestallum who called himself Red, nodded his head, calming down slightly with a clear plan before him.

“We could be there for ages if it moves closer in,” Maddox, his comrade, argued, “Wouldn’t it be better to go north?”

“No, you got civilisation nearby, you keep to it,” Gladio said. “You never know how these things are gonna move. Worst comes to worst, you can ship this stuff up to Lestallum by cable car. Or hang around Vaullery for a bit until the road’s clear. If anyone’s gonna take it on, it’ll be them.”

They rolled up to the repurposed fort, floodlights shining brightly out on the road leading up. The gates opened as they approached and they were met with inspection the moment they entered. The gatekeeper on duty quizzed them about what they were carrying, their intended destination, and cleared them for evidence of Starscourge with one of the fancy readers Sania had helped Lestallum’s tech giant develop. As the reader cleared Gladio of any contamination, the gatekeeper said, “You look like you know how to swing a sword.”

“S’what I’m here for,” Gladio said. 

“Then y’mind lending a hand? The damn thing emerged at a rotten time. The main units are deployed and it’s a while before we expect anyone back. We’re understaffed. Could use the help.”

“Then you got it,” Gladio said and let himself be directed to the unit about to ship out.

 

The landing in the field next to the bridge was as smooth as it could be under the circumstances, but Gladio would never love these cramped airships. The deathclaw was in plain sight, even at a distance, the bright red of its lasers no less stark against the darkness than the lava of Ravatogh, but unnatural in comparison, inspiring fear, not awe. They crept in as stealthily as they could, aiming to corner it on three sides, letting off a few missiles to weaken it first before the fighters moved in close.

It took hours to fully defeat even with the assistance of the fort’s salvaged technology and the battle was harrowing as these things always were, but down it fell in the end, its red light disappearing into dark wisps of smoke visible only in range of their flashlights. The people from Vaullery scouted the area quickly for signs of further daemonic presence, Gladio pitching in where he could, before they flew back to the fort, a few people nursing nasty burns and puncture wounds but, to the last man, alive. Maddox and Red had ended up ditching the truck to take the resources back by cable car, so Gladio sat down in the mess hall for some grub with the others who had come through the fight relatively unharmed. After bolting down some food, one of the guys led him to a dormitory, pointing out a spare bunk and encouraging him to rest up if he needed it. Gladio shoved his stuff into one of the room’s lockers and took the advice, lying down for a bit to ease the ache in his muscles now that the adrenaline had faded. He’d given better than he’d gotten, but a daemon like that was hard fighting. Once it might have only needed the four of them, Noctis zipping back and forth in a haze of blue, Ignis calling out orders as he surveyed the territory with a strategic eye, Prompto on the edge of the battlefield firing off shots, taking aim for its vulnerabilities, and himself providing the heavy hits that let the other three do what they needed to. That wasn’t how things were now, was all he could tell himself as he lay there exhausted, needing to rest. There was no going back.

He woke a few hours later to the noise of engines and the flooding of intense light around the edges of the blinds coming from the central courtyard. Several airships had landed. Gladio decided to get up, taking a quick shower to wake up again, it still being early evening. He was digging through his pack, trying to locate a comb to drag through his damp hair when he heard the clunk of metal armour against a metal door and looked over to see Aranea Highwind leaning against the jamb, arms crossed over her chest in her preferred stance, a mix between confrontational and casual.

“Big guy,” Aranea said, “heard you were a hand with the job earlier.”

“I was in the area,” Gladio said, giving up the search for the comb and coming to stand facing her squarely.

“Course something like this only happens when I’m not. Here I was playing errand girl for your sister.”

“And?” He’d been out of contact with Iris for almost a week now, and no matter how tough she grew, he was always going to worry about her on the frontlines like she was.

“She and Mr. the Immortal were leading their hangers-on back to Lestallum last I checked,” Aranea said, “no need to get defensive.”

“Well, thanks.”

“Don’t need to thank me for that,” Aranea said dismissively before giving him a once-over. “You look kinda shit.” 

“‘S there some kinda rule about that?” Gladio asked. “There go my plans.”

“Have you seen some of the mugs ‘round here?” she said with a sarcastic laugh. There was a momentary pause, before she said in a somewhat more subdued tone, “I heard about your friend.”

Gladio didn’t have anything to say to that, and followed her lead in avoiding eye contact, no sound but the scuffing of her boot as she shifted around until it became clear there would be no answer.

“Well, life’s shit like that sometimes,” Aranea concluded, never one to dwell. “If you can follow orders more or less and get the job done, you can stay here in the barracks. We do like having people to hand, especially if they aren’t greenhorns.”

“‘Preciate it,” Gladio mumbled, feeling an uncomfortable sensation like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Aranea shrugged it off, and walked off with a final, stinging comment. “There’s no shortage of people running away from shit around here. Good as place as any for that.”

 

Upon the fall of darkness, as the work done by hunters became even more vital, the force evolved from a disorganized paramilitary stopgap into a larger, rather different beast. Nonetheless, between headquarters, stations and outposts, operations varied with the nature of their occupants. Of all branches, the hunters of Fort Vaullery operated in the nearest approximation of an army, specifically, Niflheim’s. Cor’s Crownsguard background along with the gathered remains of the Kingsglaive that gravitated to headquarters in Lestallum influenced the way missions there proceeded, but Lestallum operations remained closer to a mix of old and new guard. Vaullery, by contrast, attracted those who wished to operate in larger numbers against longer odds. The outpost was responsible for some of the most dangerous and complicated rescue and retrieval operations, the handful of airships they possessed boosting their range and capacity. So they were sought out by those seeking danger and glory, those seeking routine and order in the chaos of eternal night, and those seeking to follow the great names of ex-Commodore Aranea Highwind and her captains Biggs and Wedge, who earned fame and reputation for their widespread rescue efforts in Niflheim, Accordo and Lucis.

Beyond the advance troops, the fort kept a skeletal ground force, necessary for its protection and for small-scale coordination with nearby outposts like Old Lestallum, the fort’s location ideal for keeping an eye on the river crossings. It was this force Gladio lent his strength to as it monitored the surrounding area, dispatching personnel to take on any abnormal daemons within its purview. The routine of life in the fort was soothing in a fashion, a simple matter of waking at the same time every morning, taking meals at the same hour of the day barring sudden dispatches, helping maintain weaponry, and occasionally drilling fellow hunters in Crownsguard techniques hammered into him from long training to help expand their field skills. The days were often empty, but they passed cleanly and Gladio let that fill his life for the moment. He reconnected with Biggs and Wedge, sitting down to eat with them in the mess hall if they were around, and he encountered Aranea from time to time with them, but for the most part his interactions were with people who he didn’t know and didn’t know him, and it kept things easy. Visitors from Lestallum were rare unless an operation was being planned and so Gladio had slim chance of running into anyone from there.

Nearly a month on from his arrival, a run-in with Aranea informed him this was to change. She strutted over to where he was sitting in the mess hall, glaring at the person to his left until he vacated his spot on the bench in a hurry, taking his plate with him. Aranea sat down facing outward, elbow placed back against the table as she leaned into Gladio’s space, the others around him subtly shifting away, giving them a wide berth. Aranea’s satisfied smirk at their reaction was hard to miss, but as she spoke her expression became more business-like. “Just got radio’d that your sister and her crew are dropping by for a visit tomorrow morning. Wants to coordinate something big to do with that old city of yours. Thought you might like to know.”

“‘Preciate the info, but count me out.” For all that he’d roamed all over Lucis these past years doing any hunt he could, he’d never taken anything that would have sent him into Insomnia. There was no going back without his king, not to the city where his father remained unburied, fallen in the service of his liege.

“I’d have thought you’d be sick of military life by this point. Military rations, at least,” she said with a nod to the food.

“I’ve had worse,” Gladio said. “Also had better.”

The edge of her lips curled upward at that, but as she focused on some point in the distance, what seemed to be the workers in the kitchen, the smirk faded. “You know I offered it to Four Eyes way back, a cooking gig.”

Gladio went still, letting the words sink in for a moment. He didn’t know that, and he didn’t know why it had come up now. Realizing he’d left her hanging he mustered up a meagre “When was that?” as a response.

“Few years ago, when he was living alone.”

“What?” Gladio said.

“So your sister said,” Aranea said with a shrug. “She thought he might be open to moving out here, but I guess her cunning plan to keep him out of danger was doomed from the start. He made a choice. It didn’t pan out well. What can you do?” she said with a vague wave of her hand, her words unyielding in their onslaught. “You know, if it’d happened to me, I wouldn’t have sat still either. Better to go in the thick of the action, at least you’d feel alive.”

“I can’t listen to this,” Gladio said, his throat closing up as the words pierced through the shell of simple routine and troubled the well of emptiness beneath.

“Don’t say I made you,” Aranea said, and without further ado departed to go talk with some of the others around the mess.

He grit his teeth as he tried to push it out of mind, both the guilt of his old disappearing act and the insidious prickling of Aranea’s flippant philosophy. It was irrelevant anyway, what Ignis should or should not have done. A cruel end was a cruel end and sure as hell didn’t make anybody feel any better. There were no what ifs. There was nothing Gladio could’ve changed, but to be there more, but to go with him, when Ignis didn’t need or want that. Gladio could have been there more. He wasn’t. 

He abandoned the rest of his meal, needing to get out of there, brushing off any curiosity from those around him in Aranea’s wake, and went outside. The cold permeated throughout the open-air fort, no crater generating warmth here, this place no more than a series of purely functional buildings peopled by those willing to endure harsher conditions to win back some semblance of structure and efficacy in their lives. Gladio climbed the steps up one of the tall metal surveillance towers. With only a nod to those on duty, he stood at the fenced edge and stared out at the dark night, feeling the wind against his skin, the cold metal beneath his palms. The routine of Fort Vaullery could not unteach this feeling, the feeling of blackened grief coming to claw at his heart, to rip to shreds the order he tried to shape out of the mess. 

He slept terribly that night, but when the Lestallum hunters arrived the next morning, he did little more than wave at Iris as he caught them passing under the yellow glare across the way. He simply continued as he had been even though the day was quiet yet, no sightings within their purview. 

He was spending some down time working out in the training rooms when Aranea caught up with him later that day.

“Things wrapped up that quickly?” he asked as he pulled himself up to his feet from the mat, tired of how Aranea always seemed to throw him a nasty curve every time they interacted.

“We broke for lunch,” she said. “Thought you might wanna join them.”

“Got you playing errand girl again?” Gladio said.

The look on Aranea’s face soured, but she wasn’t someone who could be intimidated or turned from her purpose, and Gladio knew he was in for something as she drew herself up and caught him straight in the eye. “I don’t like to do this,” she said, testily, “so you better listen real hard.” 

Here it came, then.

“I’m not saying we don’t appreciate the extra help, but you don’t exactly fit our mould and I didn’t think you’d stay this long. So why’re you here?” Aranea said, dropping the intensity as she continued. “You got a little sister, don’t you? And shortcake, he’s probably moping—always thought you guys were better off without him, right?—you got him. And pretty boy, he’s coming back, yeah? Gotta save the world and all that kingly shit. Look, I don’t like giving out life advice, not my business, not my pleasure. But really,” she said, her look more sympathy than aggression as she went on, “why’re you here when you could be there?” 

Gladio took it all in silence, but he let her words land their blows one by one.

Aranea looked away again, shifting into more of her usual humour. “Trust me, the company’s not that charming.”

“No?” Gladio asked.

“Well, it works for me. Now go make nice with your sister and get out of my sight.”

Gladio nodded and watched her retreat, having lost once more. It was a defeat easier to accept when greeted with Iris’ smile as he regrouped with her and the others, and once their business was wrapped up, Gladio found himself emptying his locker and hitching a ride back, their truck making a brief stop in Old Lestallum to pick up Cor who had been overseeing an operation of the of the Glaives there. Hunter business came first on return, but after she wrapped things up, Iris took Gladio out for street food and they caught up over skewers and Galahdian brew. 

In the end, though, none of this could prevent the inevitable walk up to his apartment alone that night. The rent he had settled with the landlord in advance but the mailbox had a few bills and overdue notices waiting. But if they were all that awaited him, he paid them little mind as he opened the door and entered the apartment, still empty, the dust accumulated visible under the orange glow of the kitchen lamp. It was not the grey steel of Fort Vaullery, or the tan tarp of the tent, far homier than those might ever be. Nonetheless a piece was missing, an apartment that used to be ‘theirs’ now home, occasionally, to one. 

“Life’s shit like that sometimes,” ran Aranea’s voice through his head, and with a heaviness of heart Gladio dropped the mail and his things on the table and went to the couch, pulling up Prompto’s album, flipping to that picture of Ignis and Noct posing back-to-back and laughing at some joke beyond the scope of the lens, not even facing the camera. He forced himself to take in every detail, to recall everything he could of moment even as it ached. He sat there flipping through the album late into the night. This was their home but all he wondered was how long he could stay this time.


	3. III

Gladio tried to keep up with friends in Lestallum upon return although it too often felt like it required more effort than he had to give. He bothered to call Prompto once, to check in on him not for any reason but to hear he was managing. They avoided any serious discussion, keeping it breezy and perfunctory, but he knew Prompto was glad he’d called. They hadn’t been in the habit of that in a long time; they couldn’t fully be said to be restored to it even now. Within weeks the Insomnia initiative drew Iris away and Gladio frequented the command station more often alone, taking on ventures in the grasslands and the southern regions of Cleigne as they came up, wherever he could be useful. 

Eventually he needed to get out, however, of Lestallum’s heat, and of his lifeless apartment filled with memories indulged in too bitterly, too often, and when he caught wind that one of the local hunters, Jocelyn, would soon be paying a visit to family in Meldacio and had an empty seat, he snagged a ride up. It was a weaving journey through the Pallareth Pass, carefully watching daemons roaming the night—the remains of the few homesteaders who’d tried to last out here and met an end—until they pulled up at last to the gate of Meldacio, manned by a handful of hunters, the floodlights illuminating the watchmen as it poured between the diamond weave of the fencing. 

Gladio parted ways with Jocelyn and walked over to the main gathering place for the hunters of Meldacio. The open-air restaurant had long since closed and reopened in Lestallum, but the general store and the hunter cabins and the bone traders were still up and running, as though not a day had passed since the fall of darkness. While Fort Vaullery ran military and Lestallum held the centre, Meldacio Hunter HQ still served as the hub for most of the old guard who, eternal night or no, intended to operate exactly as they used to—lone wolves braving the wilds, not taking orders but striking out to help those in need, to test their mettle, and to honour their fallen hunters. Under Cor and Iris’ direction, Lestallum prioritized first the living, both the citizens and the hunters protecting them, but in Meldacio showing respect to the fallen whatever the risk was a time-honoured tradition. They didn’t keep numbers in Meldacio as in some other outfits, but it was generally known of the hunters they suffered the highest losses. It was reciprocally held that those of them who survived were the toughest to be found.

Despite differing approaches, Meldacio was in close contact with Lestallum HQ, for none of them could afford to operate alone and their coordination helped secure the transport routes out of the Vesperpool. Dave, Head Hunter going on fifteen years now from what Gladio knew, had never stopped travelling all over the continent, ever keeping an ear to the ground, finding tasks that needed doing and hunters willing to do them. The bark of his dog as Gladio headed toward the rough command station buildings told him Dave was in town, and who he first wanted to see. He made his greeting as he approached and though it had been long since they’d run into each other, the recognition was immediate.

“Well, well, didn’t expect t’see you out here,” Dave said. The recognition shifted to regret in his eye as he added. “Can’t speak how sorry I am.”

Gladio nodded, neither wanting nor needing to speak of it further. Of course Dave had heard the news, and here Gladio was before him on his own, no coterie at his side.

“You boys always took some of the damnedest work,” Dave continued. “Real shame. Can’t help feelin’ a little responsible, for all those years back.” 

“This one’s not on you,” Gladio said, more vehemently than he intended. Dave, ever the bearer of grim revelation to the families of the deceased, might have cause to regret, to mourn the losses, but this one wasn’t his, Gladio thought. Ignis chose to go out there on that hunt, and Gladio, Gladio wasn’t there, to go with him, to go in his place, to stop him. Dave’s self-castigation was unnecessary in the scheme of where blame lay for any of this, the daemons, the Six, the Chancellor, Ignis, himself.

Dave, at least, knew to leave a subject as sore as that alone. He broke the silence with a proposition instead. “If it’s work you want, we have enough. In fact, got something big that your help’d be mighty ‘preciated for. A coupla’ our boys went off to the Vesperpool to secure one of the paths for a research expedition that wants to come through. Real greenhorns. Been a few days now and they ain’t come back yet or reported in. Not sure whether it’s gonna be a search-and-rescue or a tags retrieval, but if you’re up for it, a couple men are heading out short-ish.”

“Just point me where,” Gladio answered. 

 

There were three of them in the jeep as they set out, a male hunter who went by Luca, and a woman Gladio recognized from previous work they’d done together, Ven. It wasn’t a joyful reunion—these uncertain missions never were—but it was good to work with someone he could trust.

They parked at the top of the roadway, trying to shine the lights down upon the area below to see if they could pick up any sign in the limited purview of the headlights. It provided no aid, however, and they ended up slowly driving down the path, keeping a close watch for any sign of disturbance.

“There!” Ven said, keenly leaning forward over the dash. “The lights are reflecting off something. Think it might be the mirrors.”

Sure enough when they got out to examine, they could see where the vehicle had been driven off the road into the bushes.

“Looks like they left it here, tried to hide it. Don’t know what good they thought it would do,” Luca said.

“Might have been worried about human interest, more than daemons I expect,” said Ven.

“We know they got here, and got out,” Gladio said. “Their mission was to clear a route to some of the Steyliff ruins, you said?”

“That was the aim. This part of the road’s not often used these days. We usually go in from the north end of the trail,” said Luca.

“Could tell as much from the state of the road,” Gladio said.

“Well, it’s what they came here for, and it’s where they went. Let’s be getting on with this,” said Ven.

The search in the muddy thicket of the Vesperpool went on for hours, slowed down by all manner of nasty things that found them as they cast a wide net, desperate bits of wildlife hanging on in the darkness, and roaming daemons lured by human presence. Gladio took the brunt of the attacks, and the others fortunately knew their way around a battle. Even if the three of them didn’t have the synergy that came with real teamwork, they pulled through. It was taking a breath after a battle with an iron giant, having looped back around west of where they’d started, that they heard a sound coming from further in the bush. They all readied their weapons, however much they needed respite, awaiting the creature that was lumbering toward them. 

With any luck it’d give them a miss in its evident meandering, but Gladio wasn’t holding his breath for that. At last, the vision that emerged in their flashlights was a young man, stumbling wildly, waving a throwing axe in one hand and grunting incoherently, eyes unfocused. The others gasped in recognition, backing away. 

“That’s one of our men,” Ven said.

“You sure he still is?” Luca asked warily.

Gladio recognized the symptoms, having been subject to them before himself and spoke up. “Toxin’s got him confused. If you can hold him down, I can fix it real quick.”

Ven and Luca nodded as the young man came further into their circle. The two lunged forward on either side, knocking him to the ground, the axe falling out of his grasp. Gladio administered the smelling salts as quickly as he could and it was seconds later that the man came back to himself. The others swiftly let go and helped him back to his feet.

“You made it,” Luca said, breathing a sigh of relief, patting him on the shoulder twice. “What the hell happened out here?”

“Water,” he gasped out, moving quickly to sit down against a nearby stone, weak from dehydration.

Gladio offered his own, and the man drank quickly, some of it spilling down his face. On closer look, to Gladio’s eyes he seemed hardly older than a teenager, carrying that gangly awkwardness of adolescence. Once he’d finished drinking, the young man wiped his mouth off with his sleeve, notably avoiding all use of his other arm. “That’s better,” he said, handing the water bottle back to Gladio. “Good to see your faces, you’ve no idea.”

“Is your friend still out there?” Ven asked, getting straight to the point. Hours mattered in this business, minutes even, given the young man’s state. If there was still another person to rescue, they needed a heading as soon as possible.

It seemed there wouldn’t be any further search, however. What relief had entered his face now disappeared as he hung his head low. Gladio could see his hand curling at his collar, and when he finally gathered himself he revealed two pairs of tags on separate chains. 

“Then perhaps we better hear this story as we make our way back. Mission’s done. Can’t stay out here,” Ven said. 

They waited until the young man got his legs under him, and headed back quietly and carefully towards the jeep, not slowing for anything. Only their voices cut through the sounds of the creaking trees and lapping water as they marched.

When he’d finally had more of a chance to recover himself, the young hunter began to tell what he could of his story. “Me and Ciro were trying to clear a route through here,” he explained as they passed grounds they had tread earlier in their initial sweep, the corpses of the sahagins they fought still lying about even as all daemon traces had vanished. “Heard Ms. Yeagre needed some more samples collected from these parts. We used to know this area better than anyone; spent a lotta summers here when we were kids. Daemons got the jump on us though. We holed up in one of them ruins for a day, but one of the damn reapers flushed us out. Got Ciro bad and my arm too when I went after it. Hurt it good enough to keep it away I guess, but we were still trapped. Wasn’t long…wasn’t long before Ciro’s injuries took him.”

“Sorry, kid,” Gladio mumbled. He tried to focus ahead as the terrain rose, coming closer to the roadway.

“He’s still back there, somewhere,” the hunter said softly.

Part of Gladio wanted to offer to search, but he knew bringing a decaying body back wouldn’t do them much good now. The worst had happened, the kid just had to live with it. Sometimes that was all fate left you with.

The young man kept telling the story, letting it tumble out in bits and pieces, “Don’t know how long I stayed, mighta been another day, but there was no food or water left, we hadn’t brought enough, and I couldn’t take him too. Fuck. Just tried to make my way back alone, when it seemed quiet out. Got away from those reapers but ran straight into a pack of wasps. Can’t remember a thing after that.”

“Which means we could have reapers on our tail, depending how long ago that was. You’re lucky to have made it at all,” said Luca as they approached the area where they’d left the vehicles.

“Still got the keys, if you need ‘em,” the man said, eyeing up his abandoned car. “Can’t drive it myself right now.”

“Give ‘em here,” Ven said, taking them off him. “Luca, get the lights on in the jeep. Wanna get a look at this arm quickly, see how bad the trauma is. Don’t need gangrene taking before we get back to headquarters.”

Gladio leaned against the jeep as Luca hit the lights, taking a moment to adjust to the glow. Although it signalled their presence to anything lurking, the headlights were safer than sitting around in the dark and he trusted Ven to go about her business quickly. 

It was that very expectation that told him something was wrong as she peeled back the sleeve of the young man and froze. Gladio came forward into the light and Luca hopped out from behind the wheel, asking what was going on. The black spots running up the inside of the young man’s swollen arm answered resolutely.

“Scourge, is it?” the hunter asked, breaking into nervous laughter, as the three stared at the early evidence of daemonification taking over him. He tried to affect bravado but couldn’t hide the terror that dwelt beneath. Ven reached up to his collar, brushing it aside to reveal the Starscourge had already reached part of his chest.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, knowing holding back the answer wasn’t gonna make a difference in the end.

“Don’t suppose those scientists we were trying to help have come up with a cure yet?” he continued, tugging his sleeve down nervously with his good arm as Ven stepped back towards Gladio and Luca, the three of them keeping a certain distance. Either he or his friend had contracted the Starscourge, and it’d taken hold while cooped up in the ruins together. It wouldn’t have mattered whether the other was living or dead. Direct contact was one of its primary methods of transmission. 

Ven shook her head solemnly as she fell in line next to Gladio and Luca. 

Gladio knew they weren’t anywhere near a cure yet. Sania had frequently complained about not having enough data—the Niflheim laboratories that hosted Besithia’s records inaccessible and “living” subjects the very thing they were trying to drive out of their cities. They had reports from Prompto and the few papers they’d kept from Zegnautus, but they all told of the process of daemonification, not its origin or its cure. Everything they did know of daemonification told them of one outcome for the infected hunter. He seemed to know it too, despite his youth. 

“Yeah, guess they haven’t. I’m—” the hunter said, standing up from where he leaned against the car, picking up his axe but taking pains to not come any closer, as though it was they who might spook at sudden movement. He looked around almost as dazed as he’d been under the toxin. His eyes finally fixated on some point in the woods, and he steeled himself as he spoke, “I think I’m just gonna, gonna just, take a walk I guess, um, thanks for the water, fuck, I…I’m gonna go.”

As he lurched past, Gladio spoke up. “The haven’s not far off,” he said.

The young hunter stopped, looking at him askance. “Those are made to keep us out, I thought.” he mumbled.

“They were made by the power of the Oracle. If I had any hope, s’where I’d go,” Gladio said, even as he knew hope was the mark of a fool in these times. 

The young man paused, before reaching around his neck and removing both sets of tags. “Tell ‘em I died fighting,” he said, handing them over to Gladio. “Please?”

Gladio felt the chill of them in his palm as the three of them silently watched the hunter stumble off beyond the illumination of the headlights, the sound of his shuffling feet carrying for a little bit until it disappeared from range and the stillness broke.

“Dammit,” Luca cursed, hand covering his eyes as his body shook.

Ven swallowed audibly before saying, “Let’s go. Mission’s over.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said, looking to her, deliberately trying to ignore the tags in his hands, to not turn them over and read the name of the young man he’d just watched walk off into the darkness.

Ven climbed into the car, while Gladio rode shotgun with Luca in the jeep, their two person motorcade a sombre funeral procession under the orange lights of the tunnel. At war with his own curiosity—the futility of such knowledge conflicting with the instinct to commemorate, however shallow the window on a life—Gladio took out the tags in defeat, and as the light flashed overhead, he made out the name “Lian Wauters” in bursts. The knowledge didn’t change anything. Lian Wauters was still out there in the dark; his childhood friend was decaying in a ruin, the likely source of his friend’s infection, and was any of it exceptional? Half the people Gladio’d grown up around were left to rot in Insomnia’s wreck, Lady Lunafreya’s body lost to the depths of the sea, her brother’s to the Scourge, and so the world went on, countless others meeting similar fates, and Ignis Scientia was just another body that had never turned up in the sea of loss. Gladio turned the tags back over, and kept his eyes on the road as they came back to the gates of Meldacio Hunter HQ.

On arrival Gladio took responsibility for the affair, telling the others to take it easy for the rest of the night, even if easy wasn’t possible in the wake of such a mission. Dave’s dog howled as he approached and Gladio brusquely gave an account of the venture, summarizing Lian’s story of his friend’s injuries. It wasn’t long before Dave asked about the young man’s fate.

“Infected,” Gladio said distantly. “Went off to be alone, wanted to return these in advance.” He pulled out the two sets of tags. “To tell his family a different story.”

“There are some days, aren’t there?” Dave said heavily. 

“There are.” Too fucking many, Gladio thought.

“You always want the miracle,” Dave said as he looked up at the greenish-black sky, rubbing his tongue against his teeth. “Sometimes the miracle just doesn’t exist.”

“Not this time,” Gladio said, and handed the tags over quickly, not wanting to keep them any longer than he had to.

“Thanks for going out there,” Dave said as he accepted them from him. “Won’t ask you to go up that way again.” It was an attempt at consideration, what good it did. 

“Well, I’ll be around,” Gladio said and parted ways. He washed off his water bottle in scalding water at one of the sinks, letting it turn his hands red as he removed any contamination, before going off to find a space in one of the hunter cabins for the night. He needed sleep even if he didn’t think it’d come.

When he woke the next morning, he felt disoriented, reaching out for someone who wasn’t there on instinct, until he finally remembered where he was. It left him unsettled, but he tried to shrug it off, and wolfed down breakfast alone before looking for Dave again. It turned out to be a fruitless search.

“Dave gone off?” Gladio said as he approached the deputy Head Hunter who was overseeing an inspection of a supply truck that had just come in.

“Headed down to the Taelpar crossroads,” the deputy said, “Something rustlin’ up by the old grounds there, needed investigating.”

Gladio nodded. Dave never did stay in one place long.

“If you’re looking for work, there’s plenty needs looking after. Don’t know if you wanna risk it, ‘cause I can’t guarantee pick up, but we had someone working out near the stable keeping an eye on the roads. Lost contact, likely gonna be tags retrieval again. Even gettin’ someone to scout around would be helpful. Some gil in it, depending what you can do.”

“I’ll take it,” Gladio said, a hollow feeling permeating throughout him. What did it really matter what he felt? There was always going to be more of this. 

 

He stuck around Meldacio for some weeks, taking on bits of work in the pass, but even with a few unlooked for outcomes, hunters safely returned or civilians rescued, nothing quite got rid of the putrid taste of the mission with the infected hunter, and when news came over the radio of the return of the Insomnia expedition, Gladio found himself catching the nearest ride to Lestallum he could manage. 

Iris had come and gone out again by the time Gladio arrived at headquarters, but he caught up on things with Dustin and Talcott, and felt more human for it under the city lights away from the grim shadow of the Vesperpool. As the evening klaxon sounded at the factory, he grabbed food from a street vendor before heading back to the apartment to delve into a book he gotten off of one of the hunters at Meldacio. As predicted, Iris was back later that night, knocking on the door to the apartment insistently as he left the book open on the couch to go and greet her. She looked weary, but she still gave him a quick squeeze as she entered.

Gladio grabbed a couple beers and set them on the coffee table, letting her steer the conversation for a bit before bringing up the mission, which looked to go deeper into the city than even the salvagers had dared.

“The daemon situation’s pretty bad,” she admitted “not stuff the average band of hunters could take. We avoided contact as much as possible, but it wasn’t pretty.”

Gladio grunted. The last he saw Insomnia it was a glittering city within the bounds of the Wall, thriving, full of life and beauty, protected by the king and the Crownsguard. Even as the world lay in ruins around them, this change was the hardest to picture.

Iris continued, “I think the old chancellor holed up there was playing with us, letting us poke around, but thanks to the airship scouts we got confirmation the Crystal’s there with him. Being kept in the throne room, what’s left of it. A good chunk of the wall got blown out in the attack.”

The reminder of the Chancellor had Gladio on edge—the monster who destroyed and took everything precious from them. With the Crystal in Insomnia it was possible Noct would emerge and walk right into his trap, if that was even where Noct was anymore. Ignis had been adamant about the protection the gods must offer him while in the Crystal, how with the favour of five of the six Noct would be stronger than any foe that could meet him, but Gladio knew better than anyone that was what Ignis needed to believe. 

A silence fell on the room as Gladio’s thoughts wandered until Iris spoke up again. “Dad’s in there, somewhere, sometimes I think,” she said, looking at her hands gripped together on her lap. “The treaty chamber, or one of the passageways, trying to get the king out.”

Gladio’s head sunk, and he chose his words carefully, to not reopen old wounds. “He had a duty,” he said.

“Don’t we all?” Iris replied mirthlessly.

And what end would it see them to, what end had it seen so many in their lives to, Gladio thought.

They abandoned the topic for the rest of the evening, sticking to the facts of the mission and talk about what Gladio had been up to, no word spoken about the expedition to the Vesperpool. Gladio needed to reclaim some sense of normality and Iris was equally willing to supply it, evading her own unfinished business for the moment in favour of the reprieve of being with what family she had left.

 

It was a week later, at booth in a café run by an Accordan immigrant, that Iris told him she would be heading out to work with some of the Kingsglaive around the Kelbass Grasslands. 

“I’m thinking to bring Talcott with me,” Iris said, tapping her fingers against the empty bottle of Altissian soda in her hands.

Gladio looked at her in alarm, heart dropping as he recalled the face of the Starscourge-infected man, hardly past boyhood, seeing it play out again with a more familiar, younger face.

“Not on hunts, god no,” she said, “but at least to base camp.” She let go of the bottle and leaned back, illuminated by the harsh blue lighting overhead. “Maybe make it a regular thing whenever the mission’s in Cleigne. He’ll be safe at havens, and hopefully it’ll satisfy his thirst for involvement.”

Gladio nodded tentatively as she spoke, letting go of the memory in favour of the present. He sensed she was working through things aloud, talking to herself as much as him.

“He’s gotten some first aid training from Dustin before and there’s enough equipment we bring that could use regular maintenance.” She smiled slightly as she spoke. “He’s getting good at it.” 

“He’s learning from the best,” Gladio acknowledged. Trying to lighten the tone, he added, “That never leaves this room.”

“It won’t,” Iris said, her smile brightening a degree before slipping away.

“You think it’ll make him happy?” Gladio asked, knowing it was either advice, or encouragement she came to him for. He’d step up in a second to provide either as he could.

“I hope,” she said, tapping her fingers idly against her chin. “It’s not like I’m not sympathetic. It’s gotta suck. He lost his family so young and it got replaced by about five different guardians bouncing him around making decisions over his life, and one of them was me, age fifteen—which never stops being weird, y’know?—even now that I’m older. I’ve got one year less on him than you do on me even, and I still don’t know how you did it.”

“Dad wasn’t around much, I know…” Gladio said, reluctantly dredging up old feelings from everything that happened after the passing of their mother and the withdrawal of their father in the subsequent years—years where Gladio naively felt he was solely responsible for keeping the light in his little sister’s eyes, in making sure she lacked nothing in love for the absences in her life. It was Iris, then, who helped distract him from pain of losing their mom, knowing someone needed to take care of her, that it was on him as the older brother to take up that mantle. And yet here she was, no longer needing him in the way she once did, but instead needed by a kid who’d lost everyone in service of the Amicitia family. 

Gladio took a moment to gather his thoughts before he continued, “But I needed him then. He did help with a few things, even if you got to see so little of him. I relied on Jared too, to hold down the fort, make sure you were fed and not staying up half the night in a fit of stubbornness while I was on duty. When Insomnia fell, I relied on Monica and Dustin to get you out. I relied on Cor to train you. And I had, I had Iggy,” Gladio said, pausing to take a long breath. “As guardians go, I wasn’t the greatest either—you rebelled often enough.” 

A half-smile crossed his face at her reaction, but before she said anything he muttered, “It’s just history repeating itself, isn’t it?” His brow wrinkled, fighting off the crushing feeling of inevitability, reaching for anything positive to take from this, because that was what his little sister needed. “Guess we should be ready for Talcott to one day hunt with the best of them,” he said in the end. “Take up the legacy of Iris the Daemon Slayer.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Iris said with a groan. She added quietly, after a moment, “Not yet though. He doesn’t need to fight yet.”

“Yeah,” Gladio said. “He’s doesn’t need to go around swinging a sword getting his ass handed to him before he’s developed any real muscle. That can wait.”

“Says someone who’s been swinging a sword around for literally as long as I can remember.” Gladio shrugged smugly as she shook her head at him.

A thoughtful smile crossed her face as she said, “Think he might like to take up daggers, actually, the way he talks sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

“He always had a lot of admiration for him, y’know?” 

She didn’t say anything more than that, perhaps because she didn’t need to. Instead she shuffled to grab her things, getting ready to depart, and Gladio followed her cue.

“Thanks for letting me talk it out,” she said as they began walking down the street towards her place. “It helps.”

“I’m still your older brother,” Gladio said, “You don’t gotta thank me for that.”

They didn’t talk as they walked the rest of the way, but once they reached the doorstep Gladio was overcome by a need to say something, anything, to make things even a little better, even if he didn’t know how.

In the end he blurted out, “Dad loved you, you know that?”

Iris looked at him, surprised at the outburst, before smiling crookedly at him, “‘Course I know that,” she said.

Gladio felt relief in some measure, even if he couldn’t articulate why it mattered so much. “I do too, even if you’re a brat still.”

Iris put her hands on her hips, employing a particular stance that came straight from Aranea if Gladio were any judge, and said, “It takes twenty years of my life for my oh-so-macho big brother to grow a sentimental side. Guess there’s hope for everyone.”

“C’mere, kiddo,” Gladio said, aiming for her sides where he knew she was ticklish.

“Stop, oh my god, Gladdy,” she said, laughing painfully, beating back at him, “Stop!”

“You were asking for it,” he said as he retreated, dodging a blow from the sharp end of her elbow.

“Was not. We’ve probably woken up half the building, seriously,” she said, a smile still on her face even as she reamed him out. “Now, shh!” She put her hand to her lips as she went for the stairs, turning back to look over her shoulder as she climbed. “I’ll call you tomorrow before I go, maybe, or else once I get out to the haven.”

“You better,” he said, watching her go. “Night, Iris.”

“Night.”

 

It was quiet in town, with Iris and Talcott gone, and Cor off in Old Lestallum again toughening up new recruits. Gladio contemplated joining him for a bit, if Cor would put up with him, but fate had other plans in motion. Someone at the command station had a salvaged engine that needed substantially more skill to repair than anyone there quite knew how to deal with, so in spite of his “retirement” Gladio brought Cid out to look at it. Cid’s assessment was that it was good for parts and nothing else, and that they were all wasting an old man’s time. Gladio spared a sympathetic look to the hunter who’d asked for the help, as Cid started working to strip bits of it down “seeing as they’d dragged him out here anyway.” Gladio stuck by to help with the tools, sparing the hunter the earfuls of invectives Cid summoned up to hurl at choice moments. Between the curses and the rambling as Gladio waited on standby, Cid off-handedly mentioned wanting to take a trip out to see Cindy at Hammerhead. 

Gladio knew he’d never ask for anyone to accompany him, still too proud and stubborn for that, but Gladio took the cue to mention he’d wanted to check in with Prompto for a while, that maybe the two of them could borrow a ride and head out together. Gladio didn’t much like driving himself, but he could bear with it to humour an arthritic old man who wanted to see his granddaughter, however cantankerous said company was. So it was that a week later they were pulling in to Hammerhead, being greeted by Cindy’s million-watt smile as soon as they got through the gate.

“Howdy there!” she said, waving as they pulled up. Little had changed about her in the past five years, still covered in grease smears she didn’t care about and as fresh faced and upbeat as she’d always been, even as the darkness spilled around Hammerhead’s gated boundaries. It wasn’t a wonder Prompto was still smitten. Gladio stuck around long enough to catch up a little, but didn’t want to intrude on the reunion between grandfather and granddaughter, so he made his excuses to go. 

Before he had the chance to leave, Cindy turned to him. “That boy Prompto’s out a-huntin’ right now,” she said, “but he’ll be sure glad to see ya when he gets back. Been awful lonely, I think.”

“Thanks,” he said, repaying her with a smile, and headed into the diner. He greeted the Head Hunter of the moment and sat down to read one of the reports that had been left out for anyone interested—Sania’s latest research, it looked like.

The scene felt familiar, and yet he was conscious of all the differences from the last iteration when Prompto arrived back, stealing Gladio’s attention away from the paper.

“Gladio, you’re here?” he said, as he walked over eagerly. “Didn’t know you’d be coming out this way.”

“Escorting Cid. Don’t tell him I said that,” Gladio said. “He had a hankering to visit.”

“Aw yeah. Cindy mentioned he might,” Prompto said, sitting down opposite. “How’s everyone doing?”

Gladio caught him up on the business of Talcott going on missions with Iris, and what little he could think of that felt worthy or mentionable, but the truth was there wasn’t much to say and it hadn’t felt like there was for a long time. He could see it in Prompto’s eyes too. They were both trying to keep going on, fuelled by wild hope of a king’s return and clawed at by sinking fear and a grief that six months on felt still so raw. They were trying nonetheless.

They ended up staying almost a week, Gladio whiling the hours away by helping Prompto out with a few marks, or keeping guard on the gate while Prompto worked on maintenance around the station, until Cid was ready to head back to Lestallum. Once again Gladio found himself asking Prompto to come along, knowing it would never be the same as when last he asked him to make the trip, when his hopes for conviviality hadn’t yet been brutally dashed upon arrival. He wouldn’t ask Prompto to stay this time, but he missed the company and he knew that though Hammerhead might be where Prompto felt most needed, he missed their little circle in Lestallum.

Prompto agreed easily, and the three of them said their goodbyes to Cindy. Prompto and Gladio paid their respects first, allowing Cid a little more time.

“You take care, Paw-paw,” Cindy said, giving Cid a quick hug, speckled with grease stains though she might be. It certainly wasn’t anything the old man minded.

“Blazes know why ya worry about me,” Cid said, adjusting his cap. “Got enough on yer plate. I tell ya now, I got a young apprentice might be a real hand in a coupla’ years.”

“You send ‘im around when you think he’s ready and we’ll see how he takes to it,” Cindy replied with a twinkle in her eyes.

“He’s talking about Talcott, right?” Prompto quietly said to Gladio, his tone hopeless as ever.

“You want the old man’s approval, you’re gonna be waiting ‘til he’s in his grave,” Gladio said. For the sake of Prompto’s ego, he said nothing of the matter of Cindy’s approval, which wouldn’t come any sooner if Gladio had any guess.

“You’re never gonna get anywhere if you don’t stick to what it is you want,” Prompto said wryly, not taking Gladio’s words too much to heart. “Aranea told me that once.”

“I saw her for a bit,” Gladio mentioned. “Went down to Vaullery a month or so back. Don’t think I ever mentioned it.”

“Good thing Iris told me so I could stay in the know.”

“You talk to her much?”

“She dropped by a few times when they were working around Insomnia. Think she just wanted to check in. Better at it than her brother anyway,” Prompto teased.

Gladio didn’t bother keeping it down as he replied, “Thought you didn’t like it when I stop by to give advice on your love life—”

“Dude, she is right there!” Prompto whispered intently, punching him in the arm.

“You boys alright?” It seemed it was the punch, of all things, that caught her attention, drawing Cid and Cindy from their rambling tangent-filled goodbying.

“Yep. All good here! Right as rain,” Prompto said, nervous grin splitting his face as he shifted his hands behind his back innocently.

“Y’all drive safe now. Maybe I’ll get up to Lestallum myself one of these days, visit ya there, Paw-paw.”

Cid grumbled about the unnecessary concern and how there wouldn’t be a garage to come back to if she did, and it was to the tune of his usual discontent that they piled into the car and drove out the gates onto the dusty desert roads of Leide.

The ride to Lestallum was less than smooth, the vehicle they borrowed road-fit for normal conditions, but not for the threat of daemons. What stockpiles of daemon-repelling headlights that could be recovered from Insomnian factories were mostly outfitted to hunter vehicles or sold at a high price to those who did regular transport work, and while more elaborate jury-rigged setups were possible, a lot of civilian vehicles like the one they’d borrowed were unaltered. In the end they had to stop twice to fight off the daemons that attacked them, but with Gladio and Prompto working in tandem, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle. It was a relief, nonetheless, when they pulled into Lestallum, parking under one of the streetlights and breathing in the dense air. They parted ways, Prompto wanting to see Cid off to his place first, Gladio heading straight home instead. Before Prompto inevitably tried to drag him out to do or see something, a proper wash and some downtime reading were in order. 

Maybe not, he thought, as he heard muffled sounds of movement within as he pulled out his keys in front of the apartment door. He didn’t think too much of it. Either Iris was in town again and dropped by to see him, or Talcott needed some reference books from the stockpile. They knew where to find the spare key. Sighing, he entered in, closing the door behind him as he crossed the threshold. When he turned to greet whoever had dropped in, the only sound that followed was the loud, abrupt clatter of the keys against the floorboards.

“Gladio?” said Ignis, head turned to his direction, ungloved fingers putting down the bowl he had been mixing. “Is that you?”

This wasn’t real. This was a scene he had seen so many times before, dreamed so many times before, lived so many times before, at Noct’s apartment in Insomnia, in the scattered campers they’d rested at on their journey, the kitchenette of the Leville, this very apartment, their own, the scene where he’d enter the room and see Ignis already there ahead of him, working away at what he loved best.

“Who’s there?” Ignis’ voice faltered a little in the silence.

Still Gladio could not say anything. Dream or delusion he didn’t know but he was struck dumb with how badly he wanted this to be real. The scent of food, the sounds from the apartment above, the faint flickering of the light bulb that needed replacing, Ignis standing there dressed in a favoured outfit he’d always deemed casual where most others would say dressed to kill, all of it down to the last detail seemed like a memory come to life, a dream so cruelly vivid. But the details were wrong. Ignis was dead, the clothes he wore were sitting in a drawer in a room Gladio never intended to look in again, the cane propped in the corner between the wall and the counter hadn’t seen use in years, and the vegetables sitting on the counter weren’t from his fridge, ergo this wasn’t, couldn’t and would never be happening. Dream, delusion, one of the two, equally cruel whatever the answer.

“Please, whoever is here,” Ignis said, a thin veil of anxiety taking over, “could you—”

“This isn’t,” Gladio choked out. His voice had disappeared somewhere between the hallway outside and where he stood now in the entryway. He tried again. “This isn’t real,” he said, as if acknowledging it out loud might send the vision away. Which would be worse, he thought fleetingly, for it to prolong or for it to pass?

The eagerness of Ignis’ expression, almost reaching out to him, was too awful to bear, this vision so happy for Gladio to arrive, and the voice, as collected and warm as ever saying, “Sorry to spring this on you, although it’s been rather beyond my control. I assure you it’s real.” Reassurance and sarcasm belying genuine affection, so painfully like the man he remembered and yet.

“It’s not…” he said again.

“Gladio,” Ignis said, hand stretched out, hovering still in the air not because he would be unable to find him, even in darkness, but because he was waiting until Gladio was ready to meet it. In a word, Ignis. How could it be real? How could it not be? The memory that knew every expression, every word, every feeling that rested between them, more attuned to forgotten idiosyncrasies than Gladio’s imagination could sustain.

“Six months ago—you died six…” Gladio said, still struggling to get the words out past the swollen feeling of his throat, mouth dry and eyes pricking with a sensation hard to narrow down. He was taken off-guard as his bag slipped off his shoulder and hit the floor, unaware it had been shifting from his shaky grasp, a shock likewise to the image before him. Nightmare or waking hour, he was being haunted, so cruelly haunted by that image—no, not just the image, the sound, the movements, everything.

Ignis’ outstretched hand moved to adjust his glasses—and that was the spare pair, wasn’t it, the frames different to the ones Gladio was so used to, the pair stashed away in a cupboard in Ignis’ room, he’d remember where—and Ignis overrode his silence with determined fact. “Six months and, from what I can account for, thirteen days ago, I was attacked by a saberclaw and swept all the way down the Maidenwater.” Laid out just like that, as though it had only been the recounting of an unpleasant day of council meetings, or a mild lecture over misadventures on the road, as Gladio had heard so many times before, and then, “It’s taken so long to get back.” 

As the words left his lips, there was an expression upon his face so full of longing, so perfectly the mirror of his own, that dream or no, Gladio couldn’t hold back any longer whatever it cost him and closed the distance.

Gladio had barely touched him, hands clasped upon arms that spoke of human warmth, before he sunk to the ground. He felt Ignis’ surprise as Gladio clung to him, resting his head against his stomach, hands gripping Ignis’ hips like that touch was all that could anchor them to this moment. Gladio pressed him against the countertop behind them without thought, just held him, and breathed him in— the musty smell of fabric that had sat away for months and the scent of familiar soap on recently showered skin. Ignis’ hands came down to run through Gladio’s hair, trace his face, his shoulders, a touch his body remembered even as his heart had begun to forget just what this was like, what this could be. Ignis’ hands moved to the back of his neck, fingertips dipping under the fabric of Gladio’s tank top, and as Ignis’ bare forearm brushed his cheek, Gladio moved his lips to kiss it, brushing a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses from above the wrist to the inside of his elbow languidly. “Iggy,” he breathed out against his skin, provoking an audible inhalation as Ignis’ other hand curled in his hair, gripping almost painfully before relaxing and moving to his back.

A kind of fervour gripped Gladio then, furious in its intensity, a need to touch all of him, feel all of him and know it was Ignis, breathing, his heart beating, blood pumping, warm, tangible and most of all here. Gladio’s hands reached up to pull him down, Ignis half-tumbling to the floor, no less eager, no more restrained than Gladio as they feverishly pressed against one another, limbs splayed awkwardly over each other and the floor. Their lips missed at first in their haste, and Gladio felt the playful lick of Ignis’ tongue against his cheek, which rendered any further delay unthinkable. Gladio’s hands came upon Ignis’ cheeks, pulling him in for kisses tender and yet primal, giving way to deeper kisses searching for the taste, the feeling, the intimacy so long lost to each. Ignis’ hands were vehement in their exploration, tracing every inch of Gladio’s neck, shoulders, back, while Gladio’s own ran through slightly dampened hair, along his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, underneath his chin, up to his eyes, pushing the dark glasses off and letting them clatter to the floor. 

Gladio moved to kiss the scars there, his eyes, his forehead, his temple, the bridge of his nose, every feature he’d missed so dearly, that he’d let blur in memory. He watched Ignis’ reactions to the scruff of his beard, the little twitches of his face that betrayed sensitivity but did not halt either of their explorations. 

Ignis pulled Gladio level to let lips meet again passionately, deep kisses of unreserved desire, before seeking lower, planting kisses from his neck to his collar. Gladio moaned, burying his face in Ignis’ hair, the alcohol scent of gel overpowering at this proximity. Ignis’ tongue and teeth gave attention to the base of Gladio’s neck, ticklish and painfully arousing in turns as his hands ran along Gladio’s sides, stroking powerfully, making Gladio’s blood feel as if it were pumping twice as fast through his veins. Gladio moved one hand to carefully shelter the back of Ignis’ head while the rest of his body forcefully pinned Ignis up against the low cupboards behind them, rutting against him awkwardly with what strength he could muster. Their legs were inefficiently tangled up and there was barely any friction and yet the touch revived feelings Gladio had struggled to summon shadows of since he’d gone. His other hand moved downwards, tracing from Ignis’ ribs down to the curve of his ass, pulling him forward over his thigh. As he felt Ignis’ lips drag across his throat, Gladio found himself babbling into his hair, “I need, Iggy, I need—”

“Yes,” Ignis gasped out against Gladio’s throat, moving one leg to get better leverage while he pulled back and reached a hand behind him, planting it flat against the cupboards there, using it to brace himself against Gladio as he rutted against his thigh, “yes.”

Gladio’s hands went to Ignis’ waist, adjusting him further so that their erections were brushing against each other through their clothes, and fuck, Gladio thought, just to hold him like this, safe from the darkness encroaching all around them, this was the kind of thing you’d kill for. He rucked Ignis’ shirt up, feeling the planes of his stomach, the touch of skin on skin driving them both mad with want. Gladio thrust up against Ignis with renewed intensity, gripping his hands along the smooth planes of his back, taking in the warmth of his skin, the friction created between them as Ignis rocked against him, achingly hard and seeking more.

Ignis’ free arm wrapped around Gladio’s back, his hand grasping Gladio’s shoulder powerfully as fabric bunched up under his fingers, pressing hard enough to leave marks as he braced himself between the cupboards and Gladio’s unyielding strength. Gladio leaned forward and kissed his exposed collarbone sloppily, sway to urgent desire to know every inch of him again.

He’s alive, Gladio thought. He’s alive, he’s alive, every sensation proof of what his self-preservation might have tried to deny. He moved from his collar to look at Ignis’ face again, no less beautiful for all the damage visited upon it, every feature lit up with desire, longing, and ecstasy. They were here and they were alive. 

Gladio hugged him close as they moved together. “Love you,” he choked out, his lips brushing against Ignis’ ear as they rocked against each other, “I love you, gods, I’ll say it every day if have to, just don’t—” 

“You don’t have to say it,” Ignis said, his voice stripped of its usual smoothness, words coming out haltingly, overwhelmed. His hand came up to grip Gladio’s hair almost painfully as he ground himself against Gladio’s lap, his cock hard against Gladio’s, keeping a frantic pace though their clothing separated them. “I’ve wanted…Gladio, I…”

Ignis didn’t finish, swept up in the thrill, the power of their bodies against one another, seeking fulfilment, satiation, and simple closeness in the grinding of their hips, the caressing of skin, and the deepness of each kiss bestowed like a gift. As their frantic rhythm reached a fever pitch, Gladio chased that ecstasy to his climax, kissing Ignis in the aftermath until he was breathlessly gasping against Gladio’s lips as he came. He held him tightly as he could, pressing gentle kiss after gentle kiss on him as they both came down from the high, bodies languid but euphoric. 

And fuck, if he was crying, it didn’t matter. Overwhelming relief washed over him, like the cool touch of healing magic that took the rawness of the pain away, mending wounds, softening blisters, forming scars that were the proof they fought on for another day. 

Ignis brushed his thumb beneath Gladio’s eye, wiping away the wetness there. “You’re here,” Gladio whispered.

“There’s nowhere I’ve wished more to be,” Ignis said. He moved the back of his wrist to his right eye and laughed. “And now you’ve set me off,” he said.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” Gladio said with a smile that half hurt as it cracked across his face, muscles tired and out of practice.

Ignis reached out and traced along his lips, gently, slowly, before moving his fingertips along Gladio’s jaw, then sweeping back to run through his thick hair. “You’ve been growing it out?”

“You could say that,” Gladio said as fingers twined lightly in the hair at the back of his neck.

“I’m sure you could go full mountain man if you tried,” Ignis said, leaning forward, nose bumping lightly against his cheek then rubbing affectionately against his own.

“You’d be into that?” Gladio asked, leaning in for a brief kiss, never taking his eyes off of his partner’s face.

“Hmm,” Ignis pretended to think. “It’s possible I could be persuaded if it were you.”

Gladio kissed him sweetly, as though the longing of these past months could not be satiated but for one thousand kisses, caresses, and words of affection, as he held him there. Ignis responded to each one, basking in the feeling, his expression full of a kind of light Gladio might have believed didn’t exist in the world any more before today.

As luxuriant as it felt however, to sit there and indulge in caresses and idle affection, it couldn’t go on forever. “Iggy, I have a confession to make,” Gladio said, interrupting their slow, indolent kisses, reluctant as he was to pull away. “My knees are killing me, a bit.”

Ignis snorted, extracting himself from Gladio’s hold. “You think you’ve anything to complain about?”

“Your ankle,” Gladio said, hit with sudden realization, his heart catching in his throat.

“The only thing that kept me from walking back here these past months regardless whether I knew the way,” Ignis said, shifting it slightly trying to untangle the two of them from each other. “I don’t think we did it any favours, just now.”

“Do you need—” Gladio said, standing up quickly as Ignis manoeuvred himself back to a standing position, favouring his right leg very obviously.

“No,” Ignis cut him short, letting go of the counter which he’d been using to balance himself. “I can manage. Kimya expected it would be awhile yet before I’m back to business, but I push its endurance a little further every day.”

Kimya…the name stirred a memory somewhere in the back of his head. He didn’t have time to dwell on it as he watched Ignis stumble a little. “Sure you don’t need help?” Gladio spoke as he reached his hand out only to be smacked away.

“I realize it probably caters to some sick fantasy of yours to carry me around, but I assure you, it’s unnecessary.” As he spoke, Ignis reached back out for that which he had denied, his hand tracing down Gladio’s forearm to tangle their fingers together, neglecting the old walking stick propped against the wall.

“‘S not why I offered,” Gladio grumbled, thumb stroking along the hand within his grasp, revelling in the solid touch beneath his fingers, a feeling more vivid than anything he’d experienced in the past months. “I also can’t believe you’re calling my fantasies sick.” He nipped at Ignis’ ear, wanting to share all the affection he could give, to waste not a single moment of this unexpected blessing.

What might normally have been a wicked smile on his lover’s face looked beatific now, drunk on the pleasure of being together. Gladio traced his lips from his ear to his cheek. 

“Let’s get changed. I trust none of your tooth-rotting fantasies involve standing around in damp underwear. This is uncomfortable,” Ignis said, carefully hobbling towards the bedroom, tugging Gladio along with him, using his weight as a counterbalance.

“I can agree to that one,” Gladio said, the post-coital high slowly dispersing and the uncomfortable sensory awareness of spunk-covered clothing coming to the fore, an unwanted throwback to some of his teenage years. 

Gladio shucked his pants and his boxers once they were in the room without care. Laundry could wait for later, or so he thought until Ignis pointedly uttered, “Hamper.”

Gladio laughed, and it felt good even just to do that as he watched Ignis carefully remove his own clothes. Gladio could see the scarring reaching up his left ankle where it had been punctured by sharp fangs. Perhaps sensing that he was watching, Ignis opened the drawer and felt around a moment before throwing some clothes in his direction, Gladio deftly catching them and getting the message. 

As Ignis redressed, proper as ever even in denim, and shut the drawers again, he filled the silence with chatter. “Thank you for not moving too many things, by the way.” It hurt to even hear those words, lightly spoken as they were. “I can’t tell you what a relief it was to be able to have both a shower and a change of clothes when I got here. Six months recovering in a shack in a wood and—”

“Iggy, you don’t…” Gladio said, moving forward to grab him in his arms and hold him close. 

You don’t understand what it was, he thought, crushing him in his embrace. He couldn’t voice the pain of it all, believing he was gone, leaving everything as it was not because he’d believed he’d come back, not because he’d given it thought, but because he couldn’t cope with changing anything, couldn’t touch the room, couldn’t move on.

Ignis let him keep his hold, soothing hands stroking through his hair. “I do,” Ignis said, and there was sorrow behind that too. He acted as though not a day had passed, not a thing had changed, but whatever Ignis said, he understood far more, Gladio knew. 

“Would you believe I was afraid?” Ignis said, trying to offer Gladio something, to soothe or console the unintended hurt.

“Sorry,” Gladio said, relaxing the desperate grip he held.

“No, it’s…” 

Ignis was trying to comfort him by exposing his vulnerability, his fear, his wounds, something Ignis had never been very comfortable doing. Gladio rested his hands steadily on Ignis’ hips as the words spilled out erratically. 

“…I had no means of communication,” Ignis said, trepidation creeping into his voice. “I couldn’t walk at first, couldn’t travel on my own even when recovery began. I was so afraid that while I was out there, the daemons would take Lestallum, that you or Prompto would put yourselves at risk trying to find me, if you thought I lived at all. I was afraid that Noct,” he stumbled, recovering his composure, “that Noct would return and I wouldn’t be there, that you would move on. I was…” 

“It’s not real,” Gladio said, moving to stroke his hands along Ignis’ arm. “It didn’t happen.”

“Who is trying to comfort who here?” Ignis said with a laugh underpinned by sorrow.

“We could comfort each other,” Gladio offered.

“That all seems very well, but if I might sit for it?”

Gladio let him go from his embrace immediately, offering his arm once again and leading him to the couch to sit down.

“Apologies. It strains easily but a little bit of rest and I should be able to walk about for a bit. Finish cooking,” Ignis said, his head moving to the direction of the bowl still on the counter.

“Sit your ass down and stop apologizing,” Gladio said, wrapping his arm around Ignis and brushing his thumb lightly along the ridge of his jaw. “Tell me. Everything you can.”

“Everything?”

“Still can’t believe this is real,” Gladio breathed out against Ignis’ lips as he pulled back from a tender kiss.

“You know the gist.”

“Not gonna be satisfied until I’ve heard every detail, or until I’ve held you in my arms a hundred times and woken to see you still there when the dream is over.”

“You are an incorrigible romantic, and I’m minded to ask what happens once we pass the one hundred mark? Is there no appeal left?” 

“Iggy,” Gladio said.

Ignis gave in and turned to the topic at hand. “Well, as I mentioned, though cut off from society, I was at the very least sheltered and fed for the past six months in the house of Kimya. The ‘witch’ of Malmalam Thicket, as it were.”

It clicked then vividly, who she was. “Should I be writing her a thank you note?”

“Perhaps you should. She saved my life. Nearly drove me batty as well, but one can’t have everything.”

“You,” Gladio said, shaking his head before moving to kiss behind his ear. While not the most demonstrative of men, Ignis seemed to enjoy the attention for once, not trying to hide his contentment.

The moment was interrupted by a loud noise outside the hall, drawing each of them to attention, a suspense that didn’t last long before the door was thrown open, presenting a vision of Prompto, red-faced from running and eyes wide as saucers.

Ignis leaned heavily on the armrest as he pulled himself to his feet again, Gladio quickly rising to hover and give support if he needed it.

“Ignis?” Prompto said disbelievingly, even as his wide eyes crinkled and began to water.

“Prompto,” Ignis said with a truly bright smile on his face. “It’s good to hear your voice again.” 

Prompto dragged his feet as he stumbled across the room, tripping slightly over Gladio’s forgotten bag, and caught Ignis in a tight hug, tears flowing across his cheeks. “You’re really here.”

“Sorry to have worried you so,” Ignis said, patting him lightly on the back.

“Oh man, I can’t stop crying. I am so sorry, dude. I just…I went over to headquarters and they said—I just—I never thought this would happen. This is…better than anything I could hope for,” Prompto said, pulling back and trying to dry off his tears by wiping his face against his arm. “Sorry I’m such a sap.”

“I’m aware it’s terribly surprising,” Ignis said.

“That is really not the word, Iggy,” Prompto said. “I didn’t even ask them—how even? You were out there? This whole time. Six fucking months.” 

“Yes, well, I suppose much of it was uneventful,” Ignis began before Prompto cut him off.

“You can’t say that!”

“But,” Ignis cut back in, “quite a lot happened all at once that morning I went out on a hunt.” As he spoke he tilted his head in Gladio’s direction, making a minute gesture which nonetheless Gladio understood as signal for help, probably too proud to bring up the difficulty of standing on his ankle. 

“If it’s gonna be a long story, may as well sit down,” Gladio said, and Ignis’ subtle approval showed he was on the mark.

“Yes, let’s,” he said, taking the excuse to ease himself back down into a sitting position, pretending as though there were no ulterior motives for it, however transparent they were to Gladio.

Prompto dragged the armchair to face them and plopped down on it, still drying his eyes now and again. “This had better be good, Iggy,” he said, trying to keep up a cheerful tone, “you skipped town for six months and never returned our calls. I’m expecting something amazing.”

“Apologies. My phone is almost certainly sitting at the bottom of a riverbed somewhere,” Ignis said, trying to match Prompto’s attempt at levity. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, could probably feel Gladio and Prompto staring at him intently, before beginning, “Well, what is there to say really? I was out on the road near Burbost that day, taking care of a mob of goblins for them. It wasn’t beyond my capabilities—although I’ll admit they did get the jump on me a few times. Made off with a few things I’d’ve preferred to keep.” Ignis absently raised a hand to his collar, feeling for something that wasn’t there.

“About that—might not be as lost as you thought,” Prompto said slowly. “Gimme a minute.” He reached inside his vest and took out a key ring.

“You found it,” Ignis said, a pleasantly surprised expression crossing his face. It segued into realization not a moment later as he acknowledged, “Ah, but no wonder you believed the worst.”

Gladio watched as Prompto unwound the necklace from where it had been wrapped around a dehooked lure. 

Prompto kept talking as he unbound the two. “It wasn’t promising but the boot was a little more damning, buddy.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be. You certainly did a thorough sweep.”

“What did you expect?” Gladio said.

Ignis didn’t answer, giving him a look that brooked no arguments, and waited for Prompto to finish. After a few more seconds of fiddling, Prompto had it separated.

“I fixed the chain, when I got the chance,” Prompto said awkwardly. “Like brand new. Uh, here.” He grabbed Ignis’ hand and deposited it there before carefully tucking the lure key ring back into his vest.

“Thank you for taking care of it,” Ignis said, lifting the clasps to string it around his neck. 

Prompto, slightly red in the face, played it off. “Nah, it’s nothing,” he said. “It’s back where it belongs.”

Seeing the small metal beads rest in place against Ignis’ throat, the pendant dangling above the collar of his shirt, felt right, like the universe was bit by bit restoring to them what had been lost and fragmented. Ignis was here, hardly altered for all that had happened the past six months, and to Gladio it felt an assertion that one day it would be the sun, their city, Noct. This was the feeling of hope that hadn’t deigned to grace him in so long, and now it felt like the stray cog of an elaborate clockwork clicking into place, making the world run its inevitable course towards dawn again.

The pleased curl of Ignis’ lip lingered a moment over the return of the lost necklace before slipping into something more contemplative as he resumed his tale. “Well, I suppose the next part of the story is the difficult part to tell, but I’ll try to recount it as clearly as I can recall.” 

“As I was retreating from the hunt I realized far too late I was being stalked by a saberclaw that had come from the forest’s edge and followed me up the road. I should have just faced it, in hindsight, but slightly battered from the goblin business, I tried to make a run for the outpost—it wasn’t so far—but that provoked it, I think. It attacked, hit me hard enough we both fell over the barrier. It bore the brunt of the fall, but the drop did us both quite the damage, crushed my glasses and a few internal organs, I think.”

Gladio grunted at that. It wasn’t funny. It was a miracle he’d survived at all. Gladio subtly moved his hand to Ignis’ knee, stroking it reassuringly, more for his own comfort than anything, he knew.

“Fortunately,” Ignis said, ignoring Gladio’s displeasure but allowing the gentle brush of his thumb as he continued to speak, “the adrenaline was enough to sustain me through what happened next. To be honest, I still don’t know where the strength came from beyond a need to do anything to survive. I knew,” he breathed out, “I had to come back.”

For Noct, Gladio thought—not bitterly, simply with the awareness of the duty Ignis had dedicated his entire life to. There was no rest until the destiny of the Chosen King was fulfilled. Ignis had to come back, and if it meant it brought him back to Gladio’s arms, he’d take it, no objections, no complaints.

“I could hear its pack,” Ignis continued, “I don’t know how many there were but they were howling above on the road, and knowing they could descend any minute and trap me on the stairs, I decided to head for the water as soon as I had breath enough to do so. I scrambled to climb the rocks there, not my greatest of plans but there didn’t seem much hope elsewise, but as I pulled myself up the beast that broke my fall picked up again and got my ankle—its fangs managed to make it through the leather, unfortunately. I was desperate, rather staring death in the face, but I managed to struggle enough to unhook it, it was not too deep thanks to the leather inhibiting it. It took the boot, as you know.”

Gladio’s gripped tightened on his knee as Ignis kept going, the look on his face severe in its concentration as he recounted the tale.

“I only intended get to the edge of the water, thinking that would deter it, but navigating that terrain with one good leg and only a desperate drive to keep going—it should come as no surprise that I barely made it through the edge of the rocks before the damn mutt pounced again. We both fell in, but that was the last of it, almost certainly. Little difference that it made to me, mind, mid-stream. I could do nothing but try to keep afloat and pointed in the right direction. Those old survival training sessions do come in handy on occasion,” he said, with a smile, turning to Gladio.

“The joys of Crownsguard boot camp,” Gladio said under his breath.

“Hm. Well, as it was, I remember little of what happened after. I was thoroughly banged about between rocks and debris in the river, but I received no head injuries that I can recall. But perhaps everything was catching up with me then, consciousness increasingly hard to maintain. Fortunately the river slowed, sometime after the fork. I doubt I’d have survived the Lower Wennath, but the Maidenwater is quieter before it empties out into the ocean and I was gradually able to guide myself closer to the shore as it wound through the terrain. Once I started to hit the shallows, what energy I had left I expended crawling to the shore, not far from the bridge there. And that’s where I finally gave out.”

Prompto’s eyes were hardly blinking, “But in that state…” he said.

“I got very lucky. Before I got taken by dehydration, or hypothermia—” Ignis said, almost casually listing them off.

“Or infection, or shock,” Gladio cut in, shaking his head. It was unnerving hearing him speak so lightly of the dangers.

“Or wild animals!” Prompto added, expression comically alarmed, “Or daemons, let’s not forget those.”

“I appreciate the concern, but it is well past due,” Ignis said, acknowledging their chastising but bringing it to an abrupt halt as he continued. “Before anything further could befall me there, I happened to be rescued. Kimya—as she tells it—had been hauling up fishing traps she had set that morning and her half-wild, half-tame chocobo noticed the disturbance upriver. 

“Who?” Prompto asked.

“The Witch of the Woods, remember, do you?” Ignis asked. The recognition was instant in Prompto’s eyes.

“Wait, what? She’s still out there!”

“She is.”

“Alone!?” Prompto said. “And she’s like, a hundred years old.”

“She prefers to keep her own company, even now. I wondered too that she was able to keep the daemons away, but her isolation serves her better, in some respects, than others, and while I would hesitate myself to call her a ‘witch,’ she is…”

“She ain’t just normal,” Gladio said.

“No, I suppose not. But for that you can be grateful. She still brews potions and elixirs for herself and the creatures around her over whom she has some hold, if no longer for straying hunters, and as I had collapsed before I could administer any restoratives, she saved my life with hers. The injuries were too extensive for a complete recovery—well, some weren’t the kind magic can heal,” Ignis said and Gladio and Prompto made noises of assent.

“But,” he continued, “they brought me back from the brink, so to speak. She managed to move me onto the frame she had intended to carry her haul back with her. It was hardly a comfortable ride—to be dragged by chocobo in such a fashion—but she brought me to her cabin and aided me as I healed.” Ignis sighed, tapping his fingers against his knee briefly. “I’m not sure what else there is to say, really. I was six months there, slowly building back my strength, training my leg to bear weight again, until Dave arrived.” 

“So all this time,” Prompto said, but didn’t finish the thought.

“I felt like I might go mad out there,” Ignis admitted. “Only the two of us, with no means of contact to the outside world beyond what she could report of the surrounding area, going on about the creatures of Malmalam and the portents of the Six. No technology of any kind, everything made to sustain one person completely on their own. She could only promise that Dave still visited her time to time. Not often, but “sooner or later, visit he would” she said, even as the months wore on. You know, at one point I had it in my head to try and build a rudimentary radio, but it was beyond my ability. If only I had your skill, I thought,” Ignis said, looking to Prompto.

“I don’t think I’d know how to do that without some practice first,” Prompto said, disbelievingly. “Does she even have electricity?”

“Some kind of windmill powers the lights, I believe, but in every other respect she seems to have developed a preference for the hermetic life and has abandoned much of complex technology. She’s quite comfortable in her role now as the “witch,” whether she chose it at first or not. She was a great benefactor, but we wore on each other as company,” Ignis answered with a wry twitch of his mouth, “I think she was as happy to see me off as I was to leave. Shooed me off with half her garden and a promise to avoid falling into rivers if I could help it.”

“That so?” Prompto said, more to fill up the silence than anything.

Ignis hesitated. “That and a book,” he said after a moment.

“What kind of book?” Gladio asked, knowing Ignis wouldn’t get tense over something that wasn’t going to start an argument.

“A tome originally taken from the Royal Tomb, as I understand it. She goes into the thicket sometimes, who knows what for, but she brought it to me. We passed our time reading it most nights.”

“Does it say anything about...like, Noct, or—”

“There are mentions of the Chosen King but they’re vague at best,” Ignis told Prompto. “But it records historical events that were entirely unfamiliar to me, and I’m certain there’s more to be discovered,” he continued. “My thought is that the other tombs might hold more of these records. It might be worthwhile to comb them—”

Ignis paused for a moment, doubtlessly distracted by how intensely Gladio’s grip had tightened on his knee. Feelings that were best left submerged—old arguments about what Ignis ought to do, or ought not—were rising in him again, and he knew this was a battle already fought, already lost, but after all that had happened, the fear for him was more than ever at the forefront. Gladio didn’t want to face this again, and yet, what reason could he give that Ignis would accept over his own wishes.

Ignis moved his hand to Gladio’s, telling him to relax with the stroke of his fingers against the back of his hand, and continued speaking, “—and bring them back here for study. In fact, I rather thought Talcott might have an interest in aiding me with this task.”

“Yeah, he pro’lly would,” Prompto said, his aimless reply betraying his awareness of the tension in the atmosphere. “Loves that kinda stuff. Man, when he finds out—” Prompto paused mid-ramble before suddenly kicking the bottom of Gladio’s foot under the coffee table, “Hey, have you actually told anyone yet?”

Oh, yeah. 

Ignis answered instead. “I left it to Dave to spread it around headquarters if he would. The homing instinct took me on arrival. I wanted little more than to return to my comforts first, and be spared the crowds unless there was no choice. He thought the two of you weren’t going to be in town, actually. Offered me the use of his phone on the road down, but I regret to inform you he has neither of you on speed-dial so there was little point.”

“Okay, enough jokes,” Prompto said, a serious look trying to conquer his face, although it was clear he was getting worked up again, mood swinging back to barely restrained excitement as it hit him again that Ignis was truly here. Gladio knew the feeling. 

“The big guy has no excuse,” he said. “You should have called Iris yesterday. And Cindy, no wait, I’ll call Cindy, but you guys are responsible for like, all the Crownsguard peeps okay? And I’m gonna go get Cid and literally anyone else I can find. We are having a party tonight—a for real party because this is the best fucking thing to happen in like the past five years probably.”

Prompto’s enthusiasm was contagious as it overwrote the awkwardness from before.

“I hardly need one for my sake, but it would be rather nice to hear from everyone,” Ignis said with a smile.

“Iggy, you can’t just come back from the dead and act like it’s no big deal. It’s a big deal,” Prompto said, standing up and bumping him lightly on the arm before he walked over to the doorway. “I’m gonna get the others. Don’t go anywhere!” he said, before pointing at Gladio, “And you, call your sister!” With that parting note, he left in almost as much as a flurry as he had arrived.

Ignis exhaled slowly before turning to Gladio and saying, “It’s good to know some things don’t change.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Gladio said, thinking of the past months. Everything that had passed for them in the aftermath of Ignis’ disappearance had hardly been without impact, wounded as they’d behaved. But if Ignis was proof of anything, sitting here next to him, giving off warmth against the hand upon his knee, it was that wounds could scar, even heal, they did not only end in irrevocable loss. Ignis, with his stubborn desire to throw himself out on the front lines again, his levity about the long odds it took for him to survive, sheer obstinacy and intellect and incredible luck seeing him safely home. 

Ignis, who did not know the meaning of respite.

“Perhaps I should finish that prep I was doing if people are coming for—” Ignis said as he stirred in the wake of Prompto’s departure, moving to stand until Gladio caught him, pulling him back down beside him, one arm wrapped around him, his hand sliding into Ignis’ empty palm, the other reaching gently for his cheek, pulling his head to rest on Gladio’s shoulder. Gladio pressed simple kisses along his brow, down to the tip of his nose before pressing their foreheads together. 

“Just this…” Gladio muttered, “just this for now. Let me have this.”

“Give him an inch,” Ignis said.

“He’ll take everything.”

“And then?”

“Give it all back in return.”

“Sounds foolish.”

“So I’m a fool.”

“One in good company.”

“The best,” Gladio said, moving to kiss along his neck gently, feeling the pulse beating steadily beneath his lips. Alive and needed among the living—they both were, Gladio thought, they both were.


End file.
